Sacred
by AslanHeart
Summary: Erik must come to terms with his past and make decisions for his future. Spiritual & religious elements involved. Angst and fluff...the best of both worlds! PLEASE READ & REVIEW! COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Erik stepped through the broken mirror into the shadows, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness which he knew so intimately. He took several steps and stumbled, not from blindness but from grief. His body racked with sobs as the realization hit him...he was alone again. _Alone. Always alone._ He dropped to his knees for a moment before he remembered that his life was in grave danger. He forced himself to stand and resolved to move forward at a quicker pace than before.  
The hidden passageway was cold and he began to shiver from the dampness that still clung to his legs from the lake. _The lake. Christine. She kissed me. And she left me. She left me._ "**Why!** Why did I let her go?" He spoke in an angry whisper.  
It seemed like an eternity before the passageway came to an end after many sharp turns and steps upward along the way. He stretched his hand out in front of him and pressed it to a thick wooden door.

Erik stepped into a small room—the darkness was even thicker than the passageway--and felt his way along the right side of the wall until his hands found the wooden crates that he had placed there long ago. He had been wise to plan for any emergency that may cause him to have to vacate his lair…he had hoped, however, that he would not be leaving alone. His eyes again adjusted to the blackness and he rummaged around inside the top crate until his hands found a candle and some matches. The glow from the single candle cast long shadows against the brick walls of the room, but its warmth did nothing to soothe him. With every breath he took, he felt as though his heart were about to split in two. His thoughts turned again to Christine. "_The tears I might have shed for your dark fate, grow cold and turn to tears of hate!" I caused her to hate me. How could she ever do anything but hate me, after all of the LIES! I am not a man. I am a monster. I was never any sort of angel to her…I should just take my own life now and be done with this. All of this._

He shook his head as if to clear the thoughts from his mind. He focused on the task at hand. "Suicide?" he mumbled under his breath. "Oh, I am certain that is what everyone would WISH for me! I will not give them the satisfaction! I will not give their so-called GOD the satisfaction!" He began to search the large crate again. Where had he put it? He removed the top crate and lifted the lid to the one underneath. "Ah, here it is." He pulled a thick black cloak from the crate and smirked. "This will do." Laying the cloak across his arm, he buried his hands into the crate, reaching all the way to the bottom, resurfacing with several bundles of money. He stuffed the bundles into the pockets of his wet trousers and sighed. He needed no food. He had very little appetite, after all. _No matter_, he thought. _If I have need of sustenance later, I should have more than enough funds to purchase whatever I desire. _

Stepping over to the opposite left corner of the room, he felt along the brick wall until his finger rubbed against something metallic. He pressed it, and the wall gave a slight shudder as it began to shift. _So many little surprises in this place_, he thought. _Who would ever guess that there was a way out of this tiny room? _He took a deep breath and waited as the wall continued to slowly move until a small space opened, just large enough for him to squeeze through sideways. He wrapped the cloak around his body, bringing the large hood up over his dark hair. As he was ready to poke his head outside, the chill of the night air rushed against the right side of his face, and he gasped. _Fool!_ He turned around swiftly and headed back toward the crates. He reached into the first crate and produced a black Don Juan mask, identical to the one he used in his opera. _My opera. My last chance. If that boy hadn't followed us here…_ His thoughts trailed off and he quickly lowered the cowl of his cloak to put on the mask.

Dressing in black had always given Erik a great sense of menacing power…yet he could not feel that power now. He cursed under his breath as he again raised the hood, concealing his entire face. Heading back to the opening in the wall, he carefully leaned his head out into the night air, looking slowly in both directions. The alleyway was clear, and his hearing was impeccable. He knew that he would be aware if anyone were nearby.

Convinced that he was alone, Erik stepped through the small space and reached inside to click the metallic lever again. The wall began to slowly recede, and Erik turned on his heel, stalking down the alleyway like a black panther, senses heightened and alert to detect any danger.

Darkness had fallen over Paris, and Erik was glad of it. Seeing a hooded, dark figure during the daytime would surely have raised the suspicions of passersby. As he reached the end of the alley, he turned his head slightly in the direction of the opera house. He could hear quite a commotion going on, and he noticed that many patrons of the opera house were standing in the street, covering their mouths with handkerchiefs. Many women were crying. The Opera Populaire was in flames…no one even glanced in his direction. He turned back and began to head away from the opera house, careful to proceed at a normal pace, not wishing to draw attention to himself. He kept to the inside of the walkways, near the storefronts, keeping his head tilted slightly downward, yet his eyes were taking in everything around him.

Suddenly, he heard shouting coming from behind him. He did not stop--he could not _allow_ himself to stop. The shouting grew louder, and he could hear footsteps pounding rapidly on the pavement. Erik's heart began to race wildly.

"Escaped! The Phantom has escaped!" the voice cried.

_Gendarmes!_ He could hear the nervous voices of the passersby as they reacted to this news, and he looked around furiously for a place to hide. To his right, he saw wooden double doors and quickly tried the handles. _Unlocked!_ He stepped inside and closed the doors abruptly behind him. Slinking into the shadows behind the doors, he crept away from them slowly and noticed something hanging next to him—thick fabric of some sort. He stepped behind it to conceal himself should anyone open the doors…and he stood, frozen like a statue, trying to calm his rapid breathing. He could still hear the footsteps outside and the voices of several gendarmes asking passersby if they had noticed anyone unusual. He could not quite make out their responses, but his heart skipped a beat when he heard the double doors open and two sets of footsteps entered…wherever it was. Again Erik heard voices…he could make out much of the conversation…but it seemed that whomever was speaking with the gendarmes knew nothing of his whereabouts. He listened to the footsteps as they left and closed the doors behind them. Relief washed over him like a flood, and he realized that he had been holding his breath. He tried to breathe normally again, slowly edging the fabric away from him. He managed to catch a glimpse of something. _Candles?_ There was quite a warm glow about this place. Erik's eyes then focused on something that made his skin crawl. He looked at a figure on the wall far opposite him and sneered in defiance. _So…we meet at last. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The large crucifix hung elegantly on the wall, with the figure of the crucified Christ as its center. Erik shuddered as he looked at the agony of the figure. He closed his eyes and tried to blot the image from his mind. _No. You cannot truly know what agony is. You have not lived MY life! _Suddenly, a movement to his far left startled him and attracted his attention. A priest was milling about, appearing to be speaking to himself. But the longer he watched him, it seemed that the man was actually singing. Erik smirked. _So this is what passes for music in GOD'S house?_

At once, a voice broke the relative silence in the large room. "You can come out now. They've gone," it said calmly. Erik sucked in a rapid breath. _Is he speaking to ME?_ When Erik refused to move, the priest turned around to face in his direction. The man looked to be about twenty years older than Erik, with thinning brown hair and a round face with a double chin. _He seems harmless enough._ "I said that you can come out now. The gendarmes have gone. Don't worry, I didn't let them know that you were here." Suddenly, Erik realized that he had no weapons of any kind on him. No dagger, no pistol, no noose…nothing. He had hoped to slip away unnoticed and to be able to easily purchase or pilfer the things that he needed. But now…he was in this place with this "man of God" and he felt somehow…threatened. He cursed inwardly. _I could snap his neck with my bare hands if necessary. He is no threat to me,_ he tried to remind himself. Erik did not understand what was happening to him. He had felt fear as a child, but never as an adult. He loathed this feeling inside of him.

The priest looked as if he were beginning to grow impatient. He raised his voice, "Monsieur, are you going to come out from behind there? I will not harm you, believe me. I am God's servant."

At this, Erik finally spoke, but did not move. "God's servant?" He laughed darkly. "And why would you choose to serve Someone who enjoys bringing others pain?"

The priest cocked his head slightly. "Oh. I see. You are not a religious man."

"Oh, I am religious, Monsieur…religious about many things. But God is not one of them."

The priest seemed genuinely curious. "Monsieur, this may seem a strange question, but…would you care for a cup of tea? I have just made some, you see…and, well, perhaps it would help you to relax a bit. It seems you must have been through some sort of ordeal," the priest said kindly.

Erik could not believe his ears. A priest had just offered the Opera Ghost a cup of tea. Well, if this wasn't just too much! "Monsieur, I assure you, if you knew much about me, you wouldn't be so eager to share my company."

This caused the priest to chuckle. "I assure **you**, Monsieur, that I have held company with many a colorful character in my time. You are welcome if you choose. If not, then feel free to take your chances with the gendarmes on the street. But that truly seems pointless, after I came to your aid, does it not?"

Erik fumed. He began to raise his voice a bit, losing some of his carefully guarded composure. "Came to my _aid_? You must be daft! I have no need of aid from any man!"

"Well, it seems that I have given it anyway. Come now. The tea will be getting cold." The priest held his ground and watched as Erik drew the heavy curtain back and stepped out. He lifted his chin and glared down at the priest.

The priest eyed Erik curiously. The first thing he noticed was the very dark and tall appearance of the man before him…and then, the black mask which he wore upon his face. _Who IS this man? What have I gotten myself into now? Who was it the gendarmes said they were looking for…a ghost? Phantom? Yes, that was it. Well, this fellow is neither of those things._ The priest realized that he was now staring. He forced himself to look away toward the door. "Permit me, Monsieur, I was just about to lock up," he said, producing a key.

Erik gestured toward the door. "By all means."

"By the way, I never did properly introduce myself. My name is Father Michel. And you are…?" he questioned, walking to the door and locking it.

"Don't you already know who I am, _Father_?" Erik spat out. He saw the priest cringe slightly and immediately regretted his harsh tone with the man. But he would not apologize. This man was beginning to grate on his nerves with all of this…kindness and civility. "I am apparently a wanted man."

"Yes, well, I gathered that. I assume you have committed some sort of crime, Monsieur?" He regretted the words as soon as he had said them. "Rather, if you have not, then why were the gendarmes looking for you?"

"I have committed many crimes. I have harmed many people. And many people have also harmed me. As I see it, the score is now even."

Father Michel gestured toward a door near the far wall. "Shall we have some tea now and sit awhile?" Erik studied the priest for a moment and then nodded. He followed the priest through the door and closed it behind him. They had entered a cozy living room—he assumed it to be the priest's study, though quite small for that—where the priest had a fire lit in the fireplace. Erik surveyed the room. Two armchairs and a small table sat in front of the fireplace near a large rug. The rug was about half the size of the entire room, Erik noted. The walls were fairly plain with only a few portraits hanging on them. _Poor excuses for art here, as well_, he thought to himself. There was a desk to Erik's left in the corner, and a tall bookshelf filled so full of books that Erik was surprised it had not toppled over or cracked in two. An oil lamp was lit on the desk, and an open book was lying there. A squat curio cabinet sat to the right of the fireplace, filled with teacups and other dishes. The priest strode over to the curio cabinet and retrieved two teacups and saucers, then picked up a tea kettle from the hearth. He walked to the table and poured two steaming cups of tea for himself and Erik. He set the kettle back on the hearth and motioned for Erik to take a seat in one of the armchairs. Erik stood awkwardly for a moment before moving. Somehow, his tension was beginning to ease a bit. He seated himself in the armchair nearest the door, just in case, however. Though he was fully cloaked, he felt slightly exposed before this man, and he could find no reason as to why. As he was contemplating this, the priest spoke again.

"So," Father Michel began, seating himself in the armchair opposite Erik, "what brings you to my little church at this hour, if I may ask?" He smiled slightly, hoping that Erik would return the gesture. He was disappointed.

"Obviously, I had nowhere else to go," Erik stated flatly, resenting the fact that this man asked him any questions at all.

"Have you no family, then?" Father Michel asked innocently.

"Family? The Opera Ghost has no family! Yes, that is who I am, _Father_! Are you shocked? I am sure that you have heard of me. If you have, then I am certain that you fear me as well." Erik sneered.

"Opera Ghost?" Father Michel repeated. "Yes, I believe that I have heard of you. However, I do not believe in ghosts, so I assumed that it was all a fable. Then again, you are sitting in my armchair, so it appears that I was correct. You are no ghost, Monsieur."

Erik had to chuckle slightly at the simplicity of the man. "True, I am no ghost. I am far worse than any ghost could be. I am a nightmare walking. I am darkness. I am…" Erik stopped short, shocked, as the priest let out a chuckle.

"Forgive me, Monsieur," Father Michel managed to say, "but I have never actually heard anyone refer to himself as a 'nightmare' and 'darkness.' Why, you make it sound as though you are the Devil himself!"

"How do you know that I am not?" Erik replied coldly.

The priest shifted in his chair. Erik could tell that his reply had slightly disturbed the man. Father Michel leaned forward. "You are a man, Monsieur. A man who, like all of us, has made mistakes and done wrong. The Devil, Monsieur, is beyond redemption. And _you_ are not."

Erik was speechless. _Redemption?_ _Has this man heard me at all?_ He realized that his mouth was hanging open slightly and he quickly closed it. The priest was looking at him as if he expected him to speak. Erik could think of nothing to say. The man's statement had shocked him and had actually frightened him a little. He felt the unfamiliar sensation of fear beginning to creep into his bones again. And again, he loathed himself for it. Loathing. Now that was something he could grasp. After what seemed an eternity, Erik finally spat back angrily at the priest. "You could not possibly know of what you speak! You do not know me or what I have done! You know nothing!"

"If you say so," the priest replied casually. _This man is going to be a difficult one_, he thought to himself. "Why don't you tell me about it."

Erik squirmed in his chair. He had surely come to the worst place possible. He felt panic begin to rise in his throat. He grasped the teacup before him and gulped. The hot liquid ran down his throat, and he thought it felt strangely...helpful. He managed to stumble over a reply. "I…I don't really…care to." He sat, staring down at his tea.

"Well, you've made it clear to me thus far that I should fear you, that you believe yourself to be a ghost, and that you are a dark nightmare who has committed crimes. Does that about sum it up, then?" Father Michel looked amused.

_Is that a smirk on his face?_ Erik thought. _I could kill him where he sits, and he is mocking me at this very moment! _Erik leaned forward in his chair, glaring at the man. He spoke quietly, yet his words were like daggers. "Mock me again, and you will meet your God face to face this very night."

The priest gulped audibly. His eyes widened for a brief second before he composed himself. "Monsieur, I assure you, I did not mean to offend you. I apologize," he said sincerely. Erik studied the man's face and saw that he meant it. "Well, I suppose if you will not do any of the talking, then I can manage for the both of us. Would you like to hear a story?"

Erik looked at the man, dumbfounded. "Am I a child, Father, that I need a bedtime story?" he asked sarcastically.

"Of course not! Let me rephrase that…I will tell you a true account. Not a bedtime story, nor a fable." He cleared his throat. "About thirty years ago, a man was walking through the streets of Paris. He was alone and he was starving. He hadn't eaten in days and had no place to go for shelter. Winter was coming, and the nights were growing colder. The man's family had abandoned him because of his wild living. He was disowned by them, you see, because they were ashamed of his behavior. He was known to take up with prostitutes and other unsavories, and he spent all of his nights in drunkenness. During the day, he was so exhausted from his revelry that eventually he lost his employment and no one else would hire him due to his poor reputation. It was after his family threw him out that he realized what he had done, but it was too late for him. His family no longer wanted anything to do with him, so he was forced to wander the streets. And since he had no more money, his acquaintances had no use for him, either. One particularly frigid night, he was searching for a place to sleep that would protect him from the biting wind, and he stepped into an alley. He sat, leaning against the wall and trying to keep warm, dozing off periodically from his exhaustion. The next thing he knew, he was being kicked and punched by someone. He struggled to his feet to defend himself when he saw it: a dagger in his attacker's hands. The man panicked and froze for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Then, as if it had a mind of its own, his right hand shot out, grabbing his attacker's hands, wrestling the dagger from him. He managed to grip the dagger and face his attacker. It was a vagabond, apparently trying to rob him…but the man had nothing of value to even steal. The vagabond looked at the man and lunged for him, and suddenly the dagger found its way into the vagabond's abdomen. He slumped down to the cobblestones and died there. The first man didn't know what to do…he was covered in the vagabond's blood. The only clothes he had were the ones on his back, and they bore witness to his crime. He was a murderer. He ran to the opposite end of the alley, hoping that no one would see him, and he ducked into the first doorway he could find—much as you did, young man," the priest paused to study Erik's eyes.

It seemed that Erik was listening, so he continued. "There through that doorway, he found his future and his redemption. He also had stepped into a church, much like this one. And a priest found him, much as I did you." Father Michel paused again, and Erik thought he saw the man's eyes beginning to fill with tears. "You see, Monsieur, that murderer was me. That abandoned, drunken whoremonger…was _me_."

Erik sat in stunned silence, but only for a moment. _Is this man trying to gain my sympathy? Does he think his own life has been as difficult as my own?_ "Father, what was the point of this 'true account' to which you have subjected my ears?" Erik replied cruelly.

Father Michel looked up into Erik's masked face and replied, "The point? I'm not sure what you mean, monsieur. It is my story and nothing more. Whenever I tell it, I am reminded of how far I have come…of how far I have been carried."

"_Carried?_ And who is it that you think has carried you, Father? Your _God_? I must say that I rather think that you have lost your mind from all your years of wanton drunkenness!" Erik retorted.

"Perhaps you are partly right, monsieur. By the way, I still do not know your name… you could at least show me the same courtesy I have shown you this night, could you not?" The priest questioned.

"I suppose I could, then. My name is Erik. But very few people know me by that name, as I am sure you have guessed," Erik smirked. "Most people do not even think me a man. And perhaps I am not a man."

"Well, then, what exactly would you presume to be, Monsieur Erik?" the priest laughed softly.

"A monster. I have become that which people fear. I too am a murderer, Father, as I told you before. But I have killed for sport and for the hunt, and not simply in self defense as you did. And I have actually _enjoyed_ it." Erik waited for the look of shock to cross the priest's countenance, but it never came. Instead, he saw something else in Father Michel's eyes…what was it? Where had he seen that before? _No! It couldn't be! Pity? _Anger began to boil inside Erik at the thought. "Father, it would be unwise to pity me in any way, I assure you," Erik spoke through clenched teeth. "I do not need anyone's pity! I will not…" He was interrupted.

"I do not pity you. But I believe that I _understand_ you somewhat. It appears that you have not had an easy life, mon ami. And for that I am sorry, but I do not pity you. Pity is no good to anyone…pity simply shakes its head and walks past those in need. Compassion, however, is very different, Monsieur Erik. Compassion motivates us to take action to help those who are in need. What I feel for you is compassion. And if that angers you, so be it." Father Michel stated simply.

"So you say," Erik retorted, "that compassion motivates you to help others…just how do you presume that _you_ can help _me_, Father?"

"I do believe that I already have, Monsieur Erik. The gendarmes will not be likely to come back here, now that I have already spoken with them. And now, I would like to know what your plans are," the priest spoke with an authoritative air.

"I do believe that I could have easily broken the necks of those gendarmes _without_ your help, Father! And as for my _plans_…" Erik thought a moment. "As for my plans, I will find someplace to stay and purchase some new clothing for myself. I will do whatever I _please, _and it is no business of yours!" He was nearly shouting now.

"Well, if you _please_, Monsieur, you may stay here. I have quarters here on the premises, though they are…shall we say…_cozy_? You are welcome to remain here and grace me with your presence," Father Michel smiled slightly. "I have a rather small parish, and I am the only priest residing here, so…" He trailed off, awaiting Erik's reaction.

Erik was once again stunned speechless. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his cloak and sighed. _Will this man never give up? He is by far the most persistent and annoying man I have ever met!_ _And yet… _ Erik thought. "I will stay for now. Until the gendarmes have ceased their searching in this area."

Father Michel looked pleased. He clapped his hands and stood to his feet. "Splendid! Now come with me and I will show you to your new quarters. Perhaps tomorrow we can arrange for you to secure any necessities you may require?" he asked.

"Tomorrow," Erik replied.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Erik did not sleep that night. His mind refused to quiet, continually replaying the events of the evening before…his opera…the fire…_Christine. Christine! Why, Christine, WHY? Why did you choose to expose me to the world, after all I did for you! All I ever tried to do was love you!_ Despair finally won over, and Erik sobbed into his pillow. He felt like a weak man for crying, but he could not stop himself. Everything he had held dear had been taken from him, and the reality of it all came crashing down upon him in that moment. He was used to having a plan for everything…but none of this had gone the way he had planned. He suddenly felt like a lost little child again, and it terrified him. He had begun to feel vulnerable the moment that she…_his Christine_…had kissed him. _My Christine?_ He questioned. _No, she is clearly not mine. She chose that boy…that miserable, insolent boy…that boy who could offer her everything that I could not. _It angered him that he had let her into his heart…that he had not seen this coming. He had waited so long to let anyone in…anyone…and in the end, she had handed his heart back to him, wounded and bleeding. _Never again_, he thought. _Loving her has cost me too much._

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The morning light crept through the small window in Erik's room. He lay, wide awake and emotionally and physically exhausted, still wrapped in his cloak. He stared at the ceiling and sighed. He decided that it was useless just lying there, so he swung his legs over the side of the rickety bed and sat up. He saw his room in the morning light. The walls were completely bare, save a crucifix that hung directly above the head of the bed. He thought it strange that he hadn't noticed it the night before. The room was barely a room at all…more of a closet, really, he noted—just enough room for the bed, a nightstand and a suitcase, if he had actually owned one. Still, it was warm, at least, and there was no dampness in the air like that of the fifth cellar.

He stood up slowly, and his head began to throb. _Apparently, all this weeping has given me a monstrous headache!_ He cursed under his breath. He decided to suffer through it as his curiosity about the small church won out, and he opened the wooden door, peering into the hallway. All was silent; everything was still gray in the new light of the dawn. He stepped out, glancing around and trying to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. He walked gingerly; he did not want to wake Father Michel if he was still sleeping. He glided softly down the stairs and opened the doorway to the first floor, leading back into the church. He closed it silently behind him and listened. He heard nothing but the wind, and the church seemed a bit drafty. He pulled his cloak more tightly around him and headed for the priest's study. As he passed around the church pews, he looked up toward the ceiling. Great wooden beams crisscrossed above him, and there were a few stained glass windows on each end of the room. There was no real grandeur to this place, yet Erik noticed that there was a sense of tranquility about it. Then something caught his eye. In the darkness of the night before, he had not noticed it…an organ loft. _An organ? For this tiny church?_ The organ was small, but it was in fact a pipe organ—much smaller than any of those in the large cathedrals. But for this church, it seemed well suited, Erik thought. He saw a door directly underneath the loft, and he assumed it must lead upward. He was correct—a small stairway led him up to the loft, and he couldn't resist laying his hand lovingly on the organ. _Like an old friend. It served me well. _His hand caressed the top of the organ as he slid it across the wood frame and stepped around to the keys. He wondered what this organ would sound like when played by a gifted musician…by him. It was too early in the morning to be playing the instrument, however, and he felt a bit bemused when he realized that he chose not to play it simply out of courtesy for the priest. He smirked. _Am I turning soft so soon?_

He turned and retreated down the stairs. Making his way at last to the priest's study, he felt his stomach rumble. His hand instinctively flew to his abdomen—the growl had genuinely surprised him. _What is happening to me?_ He thought, disgusted with himself. _I am growing weaker by the hour! _He had not seen any food in the priest's study the night before, however, and he wondered where he would find some sustenance. Just then, Father Michel came up behind him. Erik, of course, had heard him enter, but chose not to acknowledge his presence unless first spoken to.

"Good morning, Monsieur Erik! How did you sleep?" Father Michel asked cheerfully.

"I did not." Erik replied darkly.

"Ah, I see. Well, perhaps you would care for some breakfast, then?"

"Don't trouble yourself, Father." Although he was hungry, Erik's pride got the better of him. "I rarely need to eat."

"Do you mind if I have some breakfast, then? I am quite famished!" Father Michel stepped around Erik and strode over to a large curtain. He pulled it back, exposing a small alcove—a makeshift kitchen. Erik stared. _Apparently, there are some small surprises in this place as well as the opera house_, he noted. The priest went to work straightaway, preparing tea and producing croissants with jam. He placed the food on a large serving plate and set it in his arm as he grasped the steaming tea kettle with his other hand. "Ah, Monsieur, would you mind terribly…" he said, nodding his head toward a pile of cloth napkins near a large pantry. Erik sighed and grasped two of the napkins. Father Michel raised his eyebrows as if to question Erik. _Two napkins. So perhaps he is actually hungry, after all_, the priest chuckled to himself.

Erik followed Father Michel to his study and again seated himself in the armchair nearest the door. The priest merely smiled at him and placed the plate of food on the small table between the two chairs. He retrieved two teacups from the curio and proceeded to pour tea for the both of them. He leaned toward Erik, handing him his cup. "Please, young man, help yourself." He motioned to the croissants and jam. Erik's stomach rumbled as if on cue. Father Michel laughed loudly. "Well, it seems that your lack of sleep has earned you quite an appetite this morning, Monsieur Erik."

Erik looked annoyed. "Apparently so," he replied coldly. He spread jam on a croissant and hesitantly took a bite. It tasted better than he expected. How long had it been since he had last eaten? He couldn't recall.

"So, we have much work to do today, correct?" the priest addressed Erik casually.

"Work?" Erik nearly choked on his breakfast. He quickly swallowed his mouthful. "What are you talking about?"

"Gathering all of your necessities, remember? I am sure that I can help you to secure what you need."

"I won't be needing any _help_." Erik spat out. "I know where I can find everything. There are many shops…" He was interrupted.

"Yes, but how are you planning to get to these shops, Monsieur? After all, it is daylight and you are still a wanted man. I have several contacts in the community who will help me gather whatever I ask of them and it would not raise suspicion. Now, please make out a list of what you will need and I will take care of the rest." Father Michel stated, while he finished chewing his croissant.

Erik couldn't understand it. Why did this man want to help him? Why did he speak to him as if he were in authority over him? It annoyed Erik greatly. In fact, it was beginning to make him angry. He had been patient with this priest long enough. However, he reasoned, the old man had a point. The gendarmes would still be searching for him, and he would look very suspicious in the light of day. _I **must** be exhausted_, he thought, _for me to think I could simply walk down the street like any other man!_ Erik replied sharply, "Very well. I will make your list. But you shall get the items _exactly_ as specified. There are to be no deviations from what is written. And you will ask me no questions."

"Very well, then. Everything you will need is over on my desk in the corner. I am going to go and get dressed now, but I will return shortly, Monsieur." Erik nodded, and the priest left the room.

He tried to picture his old home in the fifth cellar. He didn't want to forget any items that he might have need of, and he mentally walked through his old home, taking note of necessary items and jotting them down. By the time the priest returned, Erik's highly detailed list was complete.

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It was hours before all of Erik's supplies had been gathered from various shops in Paris. Erik had tried to occupy himself with several activities during that time. He had stalked around the church for a while, looking behind every curtain and in every corner. The priest had left him at the church alone, and he was glad of it. Father Michel's cheerfulness was almost too much for him to stomach. Though he had been trying to keep his mind off of the events at the Populaire, he could not fight it in his exhausted state. He thought back to his old friend, Madame Giry, and he wondered if she had escaped the fire. He hadn't intended for that fire to start, and he hadn't intended on killing anyone…well, not anyone except perhaps Piangi and _that stupid Vicomte_. Erik smirked. He leafed through one of the books in the priest's study. _So many useless religious books_, he thought. _Isn't there anything worth reading here?_ Finally, he spotted a book of letters, which seemed to be of possible interest. He opened it. _St. Jerome…yet another useless book, perhaps?_ He flipped it open and his eyes fell at random upon the page. He shuddered as he read: "_They drink potions to ensure sterility and are guilty of murdering a human being not yet conceived. Some, when they learn that they are with child through sin, practice abortion by the use of drugs. Frequently they die themselves and are brought before the rulers of the lower world guilty of three crimes: suicide, adultery against Christ, and murder of an unborn child._" Suddenly Erik felt nauseous. _They drink potions to ensure sterility…practice abortion by the use of drugs…with child through sin…._ Erik's head began to feel light and the room around him appeared to be spinning. The book fell to the floor with a thud and he grasped the nearest armchair he could locate. He fell to his knees by the armchair, gasping for air, as his vision began to grow darker. He was passing out. Panic engulfed him as he felt the unfamiliar sensation, and then…darkness.

Erik awoke slowly, his face pressing against the rug in the priest's study. _How long have I been like this?_ He tried to recall what had happened as he sat up and rubbed his forehead. Then suddenly it all rushed back into his mind like a flood. Another wave of nausea came with the thoughts, and he fought to keep his breakfast down. He breathed deeply until the wave passed and he closed his eyes. He recalled the words of St. Jerome as the reality dawned on him at long last. _This…my face…this was intentional? My mother…she…tried to…and she failed? Oh, God, oh, God… _The room began spinning again and Erik fought to remain conscious. Sobs racked his body uncontrollably as pain surged through his heart. He had never been loved, never been wanted. This explained his mother's coldness toward him as a young child, as well as her later abandonment. "Oh, God, she never even wanted me to be _born_!" He choked out.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter contains a few quotes from Bible passages. If you are easily offended by such things, you may want to turn back now:) I felt that this was in keeping with the priest's character, and also felt it was necessary to help Erik to begin to see himself in a different light. Thanks for reading! **

**Chapter Four**

After several hours, Father Michel returned to his church carrying large bundles of Erik's supplies. He hoped that he had obtained everything to Erik's specifications. Although he didn't truly fear the man, he was certain that he did not want to make him angry. He set the parcels down outside his study door, wondering if Erik had finally succumbed to sleep upstairs in his bed. Opening the study door, however, he encountered a disheveled and visibly grief-stricken Erik.

"My dear boy, what has happened?" the priest spoke, his voice shaking with panic.

Erik was seated on the floor holding one of the priest's books. His eyes appeared to be red beyond the black mask, and his cloak lay next to him on the floor—for the first time exposing Erik's head of hair…full on one side and sparse on the other. The priest didn't know whether to approach him or run from the room at the sight of him. He wondered to himself what might have happened to this man to make him look this way…and then he shuddered, realizing that the man's mask must serve another purpose besides keeping his identity a secret. He came to his senses, however, and prayed silently under his breath. He stepped toward Erik and knelt down at his side.

Erik looked up at the priest. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He simply handed Father Michel the open book, as if trying to tell him what he had read that had disturbed him so. Father Michel thought that for the first time, he was seeing the little boy inside this dark and menacing man. He reached out and laid his hand upon Erik's shoulder. "Come now, Monsieur Erik. Please, tell me what has happened to grieve you so."

Finally, Erik found his voice. "Father," he spoke in a whisper, "He didn't do this to me."

Father Michel furrowed his brows. "Who, young man? What is it that you are talking about?"

"This," Erik choked out. "Me. I…I was reading…and I…I read what has happened to me, Father." He pointed to the paragraph that he had read earlier.

The priest looked down and read the words carefully. His eyes grew wide. "You don't mean…dear boy…you…you were harmed in your mother's womb?" Erik nodded.

"I never knew. I never knew until this moment! And I…I blamed Him, Father. I have always blamed Him. I thought that no loving God could create a freak of nature such as myself. But He did not create me this way. My own mother! My own _mother_ did this to me!" Suddenly, he ripped off the black mask and stared at the priest, weeping.

Father Michel gasped. He stared in horror at the right side of Erik's face. The skin was yellowed and looked as if it were decaying. His face was so misshapen that it barely looked like a face at all. The priest closed his eyes for a moment and prayed. When he opened his eyes, Erik was still weeping. _Compassion_, he thought. _This man needs it more than any other I have ever known. _ He reached out and embraced Erik, pulling him against his chest. Erik suddenly winced at the intimacy of the contact, but then his tears began to flow even more freely as he allowed Father Michel to comfort him as his true father never had.

Erik cried for what seemed like hours as Father Michel held him. A heavy silence filled the room, except for the sound of Erik's sobs. Finally, Erik took a deep breath and shuddered. Father Michel released him from the embrace and their eyes met…unmasked eyes meeting the eyes of compassion. The priest had been thinking the entire time about what he could possibly say to comfort this broken man…but nothing was coming to mind. "I'm so very sorry, Erik," he finally whispered.

Erik lowered his gaze and shook his head slightly. "I have thought my whole life that I was cursed by God."

"Cursed by God? Mon ami, God does not curse His children. He pursues them with a love beyond comprehension."

"I don't know if I have truly ever known what it is to feel love…until…" Erik swallowed hard.

"Until what, my boy? Have you loved someone?" the priest questioned.

Erik sighed. "Yes, Father, I loved a woman. But she, like my mother, also betrayed me. At first I thought it was because of my face, but then she told me…it was my soul that was distorted. And she was right, Father. She was _right_. There is no hope for me…no hope for change." Erik was feeling quite vulnerable, and even he surprised himself with his honesty before the older man.

Father Michel grasped Erik's shoulders. "Ah, there you are wrong, mon ami. If God can change me, then I believe that He can change anyone. As a matter of fact, I believe that I see a change in you beginning even now."

Erik stared at the priest. "But I am the same man that I was when I walked in here last night. I am still a murderer, still a **monster**…or had you _forgotten_?"

"I have not forgotten that you are those things…and so am I. But those events in my past have been forgiven by God. I have turned from those ways…it was not easy, by any means…but I have asked forgiveness and grace of the Lord, and He has been merciful to me. He will also do the same for you. But you must be willing to accept His mercy as well, my boy."

"No _man_ has ever shown me mercy. Do you honestly believe that this 'perfect' God that you serve could truly look upon all that I have done…and simply forget it all?" Erik asked incredulously.

"Erik, I believe what the Scriptures say. And they say that 'Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow'…and that 'as far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our sins from us.' So, yes, I believe He will forgive and forget. I have to believe it, Erik, because I am living proof of it."

"I am certain that He will require me to pay dearly for all that I have done," Erik sneered. "After all, he is supposed to be a _just_ God, yes? Though I dare say that this face of mine has certainly made me pay all of my life." He was beginning to feel anger again.

"Erik, the Lord's forgiveness is a free gift offered to all men. 'For God so loved the world, that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.' Your sins have made you pay, Erik, just as they make us all pay…all sin results in death to our inner spirit. But the Scriptures say that 'the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord.' You don't have to do anything to earn it! All you must do is believe."

"So you are telling me that God _Himself_ put His own Son through the agony that I see on the crucifix in this church?" Erik spat angrily. "How is _that_ merciful and loving, Father? How can that even be _justified?_"

"He took your place and mine on that cross, Erik, willingly. He served as our substitute. He took our penalty. Because of His great love for us, He did all of this, and for no other reason. We deserve death, but Christ took our place. The cross is our reminder of this, Erik. The cross is a reminder of God's great love and mercy toward us. And besides that, you surely know that Christ did not remain dead—that He was raised to life three days after the crucifixion, do you not?"

"I had heard of such a fable, yes," Erik mumbled.

"It is Truth, Erik. I have staked my very life on it. And so must you, if you wish to change and become the man that God spared your life to become. He spared your life in your mother's womb…and He again spared it last night. Do you think it was for no reason? Will you again squander this chance that you have been given?" the priest was speaking with great passion and urgency, and a bit of righteous anger. It was evident to Erik that he genuinely believed all of this, and that he also had a fatherly concern for him.

"I will consider all that you have said, Father, though it all seems a bit simple-minded. But I make no promises to you or to any man," Erik said firmly.

The priest nodded and smiled. _Somehow, perhaps I have gotten through. Thank You, **God**!_

"Now, Father, I assume that you have returned with all of my necessities. May I see them?" Erik questioned brusquely as he placed the mask back on his face.

"Yes, certainly. And…I would like for you to know that you need not wear your mask here for my sake…your face does not frighten me, Erik." Erik nodded at the priest, but he left his mask in place. Somehow, he felt more vulnerable without it. And he simply wanted to feel… "normal"…again.

**A/N:** To Phanatic4Phantom: Thanks for your sweet comments and neverending encouragement! You're awesome, girl!

To Nota Lone: I'm glad you're enjoying the "happy" Father Michel. Thanks so much for reviewing!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hi! I hope that many of you are enjoying this story. I appreciate any constructive feedback that you may have. Just wanted to warn you that this chapter is a longer one, but the next one will be short. I tried to fix that, but I just couldn't find a better way to do it. So, I hope you enjoy:) **

**Chapter Five**

Erik was pleased, surprisingly. The priest had followed his instructions to the letter. He had even been discreet about getting supplies for Erik to make more masks for himself. He had chosen many fine pieces of clothing for Erik (most of them in black) by the upscale designers to which Erik was accustomed. New cravats, wigs, waistcoats, trousers, socks, undergarments, lawn shirts and other articles were lined neatly on the bed, with several pairs of shoes laid out on the floor. Now Erik's only problem was where to keep all of his clothing in the tiny closet of a room.

A knock came upon the door and Erik was slightly startled by it. "Come in."

Father Michel entered, carrying a black fedora in his hands. "I'm sorry, Monsieur Erik…this item was left downstairs." He handed the hat to Erik, and Erik scrutinized it. He nodded his approval.

The priest nodded in return. "If you should need anything, I will be in my study."

"Very well," Erik answered. "Father…I…" he trailed off.

"Yes?" the priest questioned, raising his eyebrows.

"Nothing. Just…thank you." Erik lowered his gaze. The priest smiled and spoke softly, "You are very welcome, mon ami." He left, closing the door behind him.

Erik marveled at all that had happened to him that day. He had discovered the truth about his deformity's origins, and he hadn't had to deal with it alone. For this man, this old priest, to take _him_ in--a stranger with a dark heritage…it was nothing that Erik had ever experienced before. He honestly did not know quite how to feel about that. The only emotion that he was absolutely certain that he _did_ feel was anger--toward his mother. Seething rage...and deep pain. Oh, he knew about methods to end the lives of the preborn. But to realize that he had endured a lifetime of pain because of one such method…it was all too disgusting and personal. He hated his mother for what she had done to him…as if he hadn't enough reason to hate her already for her abandonment.

Erik changed into some fresh clothes and felt more like himself as he donned a dark wig and smoothed it securely into place. He lifted the black mask and placed it on his face. _Now, to create a less cumbersome mask_, he thought. He gathered his supplies and left the room to begin his work. Perhaps focusing on the task at hand would help to settle his mind a bit.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik was nearly finished with several masks when the priest pulled back the curtain to the small kitchen alcove. "Erik, I am sorry…I was not aware that you were in here."

Erik turned to him and smirked. "Just trying to busy myself," he said wryly. "I much prefer the look of these masks." He motioned toward a counter top where he had laid the completed white masks. They seemed to glare at the priest, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Yes…well, they certainly are…different than the black one, aren't they?"

"More _ghostlike_, wouldn't you say, Father?" Erik nearly chuckled at the priest. He noticed that the old man looked ill at ease. "Something wrong?"

"No, no, not at all," the priest stammered. "I just came in to get something to eat. Can I get you something?"

"No, thank you." _Where had all of these appropriate manners come from all of a sudden?_ Erik wondered. He stiffened his back. "I told you that I rarely eat."

"That you did. Well, then…" Father Michel reached into the large pantry and pulled out some bread and fruit. "I'm sorry…I don't really have much to eat around here, anyway, I suppose. The choices are probably not to your liking. I'm sure you are accustomed to…richer foods, yes?"

"Why would you assume such a thing?" Erik questioned.

"Well, I have just purchased some rather expensive clothing for you today, Monsieur, from reputable designers. I suppose I just assumed that your taste in foods would be similar," the priest stated matter-of-factly.

Erik nearly snorted. "I lived under the opera house, Father…in a very cold and damp place. Alone. It would be a grave mistake to assume that I have lived any sort of privileged life."

"Of course, Erik. I apologize for jumping to such conclusions." He paused for a moment. "You say you lived…_under_ the opera house?"

"In the fifth cellar." Erik couldn't believe his own words. _Why am I telling this man so much about myself? He could expose me to the world!_ As soon as Erik thought these things, however, he knew that the priest would never do such a thing. There was just something different about this man. He seemed…trustworthy.

"My goodness! That is very far below the opera, yes? How did you even survive in such a place?" Father Michel asked incredulously.

Erik sighed. "Well, since you already know that I am a murderer…I am also an _extortionist_, Father. I obtained a 'salary' from the opera managers through coercion and blackmail. I was paid this exorbitant sum every month so that no 'unfortunate incidents' would occur. However, you might guess that I did not _always_ uphold my end of the bargain. I instructed them on how to run my opera house, and if they ignored my commands, I brought disaster upon them as I had warned them I would. With this 'salary' I was able to procure everything that I needed to survive in that dank hole." Erik exhaled slowly, awaiting the priest's reaction. He feared that he had revealed too much.

"Well, my boy," Father Michel chuckled, "you certainly are a _resourceful_ one, aren't you?"

Erik was shocked at the old man's amused reaction, but he refused to show it. "Finished," Erik stated, holding the last mask in the air to examine it. He set it down and picked up one of the other masks from the counter top. He turned away from the priest and removed the black mask he had been wearing. He placed the white mask upon his right cheek and pressed it lightly. It was a perfect fit. "There," he said. He turned again to face the priest.

Father Michel's mouth gaped. He couldn't believe his eyes. _This man is actually…handsome_, he noted. _One perfect cheek and one marred cheek, covered by an ominous looking white mask._ Such contrast was frightening, he thought, but almost…_beautiful_. _Pity that more people haven't been allowed to see it in this man._

"So, Father," Erik noticed the priest's stunned countenance, "do I frighten you now?"

The priest shook his head. "No, Erik. You still do not frighten me," he said with a grin.

"Hmmm," Erik shrugged.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik wondered exactly what he should do now. He had been thinking of the immediate…of his escape from the Populaire, of his evasion of the gendarmes, of his need for clothes to wear…but he felt as though his life were somehow…ending. _Perhaps the Opera Ghost is dead,_ he thought. _But Erik still lives._ He was seated in the priest's study, reading a book that the priest had loaned him about the history of sacred music in the church. It made Erik feel a bit more like himself to even be reading about music. He felt a familiar twinge of loss inside, however. He thought of the small pipe organ upstairs and decided to give it a try this time. After all, it was nearly the hour for the evening meal (for the average citizen, that is) and Father Michel was wide awake, so there was no reason to delay.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik thoroughly examined the organ this time. Everything seemed to be as it should. He glanced down to the first floor. _Where has Father Michel gone?_ He hadn't seen him for at least half an hour.

He sat down on the bench and touched the keys lightly, but did not press down. He took a deep breath and tried to think of something to play. _Ah, yes…Mozart, perhaps? _He began softly, and then his fingers raced across the keys deftly. He began to lose himself in the minor tones of Mozart's_ Toccata and Fugue in D Minor_. He played for what seemed an eternity, and he felt as if he and the organ were of one flesh. _She is playing as she was always meant to play, _Erik thought. He knew that the sound could in no way compare to the large organs of the great cathedrals, but he was sure that he was coaxing every drop of passion from this graceful lady beneath his touch.

When Erik finished, an uncomfortable silence engulfed the room. His head was bowed, and he felt tears begin to well up inside him. His breath seemed to catch in his chest, as a soft sob escaped his lips. "My dear boy," came a voice from below, "I have never heard such skill in all my life." Father Michel stood below Erik, supporting his weight against a pew. He looked up at Erik, and as their eyes met, Erik could see that the priest was visibly moved by his performance. Erik simply nodded at him to acknowledge his comment and then turned away from him, back to the organ.

"Is there a piece that _you_ would like to hear?" Erik asked the priest. He was beginning to trust the old man, and even perhaps respect him a little. After all, very few people had willingly accepted Erik. Father Michel had treated him as if he were like any other man…and even welcomed him with open arms, acting as though he were the father that Erik never had. "Perhaps a sacred piece by J.S. Bach?" Erik suggested.

"Whatever you would like to play," Father Michel replied. Erik began to play a tune that was much more lighthearted than the Mozart piece, and when he had finished, the priest applauded. "Erik, perhaps you would consider playing for Mass sometime?" He asked hopefully.

Erik grimaced. "I…do not know if that would be possible, Father. I would feel quite uncomfortable playing for your parish. The people would likely see who was playing and might choose to never return!" Erik chuckled aloud, and the priest was surprised to hear the sound coming from this dark and tormented man. _He is so gifted,_ he thought. _Oh, Lord God, bring Erik peace and joy, for once in his life!_

"Very well, my boy. I understand what you are saying. However, I should have you know that I can run my parish off _without_ your help!" He laughed loudly and Erik lifted one corner of his mouth in a slight smile at the old man.

"Oh, I'm _certain _of that," Erik replied sarcastically.

"Now, now, let's not be insulting!" the priest chuckled. "It seems that it is time for supper. Are you hungry? I think I have a few things in the pantry. Perhaps some bread and cheese? A bit of wine?"

Erik thought for a moment. "Yes, I believe I could eat."

"Wonderful! You feel free to continue playing while I get everything ready, then." The priest disappeared behind the heavy curtain of the kitchen alcove and Erik sighed. _I hate to insult this man's kindness, but I cannot continue staying here. I must find a place of my own soon, _Erik thought to himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A phantom and a priest sat together in the small study, sipping wine in silence. _Quite the strange companions we have become_, Erik thought, slightly amused. He did not know how to breach the subject of his leaving with Father Michel…after all that this man had done for him, he felt slightly indebted to him. He also felt that by remaining at the church, however, that he was risking the priest's safety. _Strange. Why should I feel anything for this man? I have only known him for two days! _Erik shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He cleared his throat slightly, but the priest spoke first.

"So…I would like to speak to you about what happened to you yesterday," Father Michel began.

"Yesterday?" Erik had been hoping to avoid the subject altogether. "Father, there is nothing to--"

"Erik," the old man interrupted, "please do not pretend that you have not just been through quite an ordeal. You've escaped a burning opera house, eluded the gendarmes, and discovered a horrible truth about your past all in the span of mere hours, my boy! There are some things that I believe we need to discuss."

Erik raised a questioning eyebrow, but was silent as the priest continued.

"You must no doubt feel a great deal of anger at this moment, am I correct?" Father Michel questioned.

Erik hesitated but then nodded. He tried to avoid looking the old man in the eyes. It didn't really seem to help, though, for the priest was reading him like a book.

"You are very angry with your mother for what she did to you. And I can't say that I blame you. You have every right to be angry, Erik. She harmed you and then later abandoned you. But I do have one thing to say about this…" he trailed off momentarily, studying Erik's demeanor. When the priest paused, Erik finally met his eyes and waited for him to continue. "You must eventually come to the point where you can forgive her for her actions."

Erik looked as though the man had just slapped him across the face. He was genuinely shocked—and growing increasingly angry as the seconds ticked by. His back and shoulders stiffened and he leaned back slightly in his chair. "I can _never_ forgive that filthy _whore_ for what she did to me!" He was seething and practically spat the words at the priest.

Father Michel leaned forward in his chair and attempted to lay a hand on Erik's shoulder. Erik instinctively jerked away. "Don't TOUCH me! How dare you say such things to me! You have not lived _my life_! You have not encountered the inhuman abuse that I have! It is all because of HER!"

The priest looked at Erik sympathetically. "I understand that, Erik, I truly do. And I am so very, very sorry for all the things you must have suffered in your short life…I am simply trying to--"

"NO! Damn it all, you will NOT try to convince me of anything, Father!" Erik sneered at the priest and stood abruptly from his chair, nearly knocking over his wine glass. "I will leave this place at ONCE!" He turned to head for the door, but before he could go any further, he felt a firm grip on his shoulders and before he could react, he was forcefully spun around.

"**Not** before we have talked about this, Monsieur!" the priest nearly shouted at him.

Erik was thrown a bit off balance by the priest's action, and he stumbled slightly to catch himself. "Now **sit down**!" The priest glared at Erik with such ferocity that he was too stunned to do anything but comply. He never took his eyes off of Father Michel as he seated himself slowly in the chair, as though he were in a daze. "You will be _silent_ while I say what I have to say, young man! I have shown you nothing but respect and kindness since you arrived, and I have even _lied to the authorities_ to protect you! You shall hold your peace and in turn show _me_ respect!"

Erik stared at the priest. His mouth was gaping slightly as the old man seated himself again and took a deep breath. "Now," the priest began in a calmer tone, "as I said, you have every right to be angry with your mother. But you have allowed your anger to corrupt you for too long in your life. I can see it wrapped around you like the cloak that you wear. And if you continue to allow unforgiveness to seethe and boil inside you, you will surely destroy yourself!"

"Why do _you_ care," Erik dared to respond, "if I destroy myself? You are not my father—you are no relation to me at all. You only met me two days ago, and yet you act as if you know my innermost thoughts!"

"Do you _still_ not understand?" Father Michel responded. "I told you about my past also, Erik. And I have had much anger to deal with as well. Granted, I surely have not suffered as greatly as you have, but I have suffered at the hands of others…and I have suffered at my own hand as well. If I hadn't walked into a church that day, I would likely be rotting in the grave right now. I _do_ understand many of your thoughts! And I care about what happens to you, though God only knows why, as you've been so very difficult since you arrived! I know that you will not be able to forgive any of those who have wronged you 'overnight,' so to speak, but I pray that in time, you will come to that point."

"It would take an eternity, Father. I do not believe that I have it in me to forgive." Erik replied darkly.

The priest nodded. "I know, I know. But you must make a conscious choice to forgive those who have abused you, even though they do not deserve your forgiveness. My boy, forgiveness is not for _them_…it is for _you_. If you do not forgive, you will never become the man you were always meant to be. And if you do not forgive others for _their_ wrongs, then God cannot forgive you for _yours_. Erik, you are incredibly gifted, as I have heard with my own two ears today...and I am certain that this is not the only great talent you possess. But you will waste all that you have been given if you cannot come to terms with your past."

Erik sat silently, trying to fully absorb what Father Michel had said. He wanted to lash out in anger, but it seemed as though there were an invisible force restraining him. He believed that the priest was only speaking out of concern for him…and that was something that had rarely--if ever--happened in Erik's entire life.

"Now. I have a question for you, as well, my boy," the priest smiled slightly. "You told me that you had loved a woman, but that she had somehow betrayed you, yes? I should like for you to tell me about her."

Erik could not believe his ears. _Does this man have no shame? Will he never cease with his lecturing and questioning?_ "Father, I do not wish to discuss this…at ALL," he said forcefully. He glared at the priest to further emphasize his statement.

Father Michel ignored him. "Erik, I believe that it would do you some good. I know that you do not believe that, but I have been a priest for many years, and I am aware that bottling things inside of oneself is never healthy. You must speak to someone about her eventually…and I can think of no one better than your friendly neighborhood priest," he smiled, clearly amused with himself.

Erik sighed. He knew that the old man would never give up until he talked about it. He chose his words carefully as he spoke. "Alright. The woman was…someone I knew…from the Populaire."

Father Michel leaned forward, interested. "_Really?_"

Erik smirked in amusement. _The man acts as if he thrives on gossip_, Erik chuckled to himself. "She was a singer…she came to the opera house when she was a very young girl, and her father had died. I took her under my wing and comforted her as best I could. As she grew up, my feelings for her became more…complicated. I thought that she would return those feelings, but…" his voice softened, "…but she chose another."

"Go on," the priest urged. He knew that there had to be more to the story, though he could see that it saddened Erik to tell it.

"It is really that simple, Father. _Must_ you know every detail? Really, you are as bad as a woman!" Erik chided him.

"_Am_ I?" the priest replied. "And apparently _you_ would be the resident expert on women and their feminine ways?"

"Well, I should assume that I know more about women than a _priest_!" Erik goaded the old man.

"Yes. Well, think what you want, then. And please, do continue. I know that there are many details that you are not telling me, my boy."

"The details do not matter. She is out of my life now, Father, and I know that she will never return. I would rather just put her out of my mind." Erik sighed.

"Oh, mon ami, you wish for the impossible then, I'm afraid."

**A/N:** Mlle. Fox: So glad you like the story! You'll just have to wait and see what happens, though...and besides, it's only been about four days since the Opera fire here, so I don't think that Erik would be OC just yet! I hope you'll keep reading, and that you will like it. Thanks for reviewing!  
ladyerik: Don't worry, I'll continue! Erik won't let me off the hook THAT easily! Thanks for your comments!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Well, here is my disclaimer, finally. Don't own Phantom or the characters...and I don't own Mozart or any other composer/musician listed anywhere in this entire story. I DO own Father Michel (that wonderful priest we all know and love), and several other characters yet to come. I wish I owned Erik...but my pocket's not big enough to carry him in...sadly enough. ****Please review my story!**** Thanks for reading, and enjoy!  
**

**Chapter Six**

Erik had finally breached the subject of finding a proper home for himself with the priest. He thought that the old man had been slightly disappointed, but seemed to genuinely understand Erik's point of view on the matter. Father Michel insisted on helping him find a place, however, and had called on a few of his trusted parish members to ask for their help, as well. Erik thought that had those people known about his past, they would never have been so willing to help. _But it shouldn't matter now anyway, should it? The Phantom is dead. And yet, there is no body to be found._

It had been three days since the opera fire, and Erik was curious to know how everyone had fared. He wanted so badly to go back there and see the damage for himself, but he could not bring himself to face the destruction that he had caused. He had tried to busy himself with reading and with playing the church organ, but his thoughts continually drifted back to the subject which he dreaded most…Christine. In his mind's eye, he could see her: long, flowing auburn waves falling down her back and over her shoulders, eyes like warm amber…lips like…well, like nothing he had ever tasted or felt before. He shivered unconsciously as he closed his eyes and remembered her kisses…sweeter than the sweetest wine, and warmer than anything he had ever known. He wanted her in his arms…he _ached_ for her to be in his arms forever. But she did not love him. He had frightened her with his seduction and his darkness…in his arms, she was not a woman—she was a frightened little girl under the control of a madman. At least, that is what people thought him to be…a madman. Now without her, he truly felt as if he _were_ going mad. _Why, God? Why? Why could she not return my love? After I gave her my very soul, how could she choose someone else? But then…after she had seen what was in my soul…how could she not?_ Erik sighed. He thought back upon what Father Michel had said about becoming the man that he was meant to be. _Have I truly wasted the past ten years on Christine? What was I supposed to have gleaned from the experience other than pain and rejection? _ His whole life had been about pain and rejection, after all—or did God just intend to torture him until his dying day…and even after? All these thoughts became a jumbled mess in Erik's mind. But then, he realized, that Father Michel did have a point…why had God given Erik so many talents if he was truly only meant to be a miserable wretch of a man living in a dank cellar all his life? _No, it just simply does not make sense. Surely, even God must be logical_, he thought. _Is it logical to waste all of my brilliance in music, architecture, art and other genres? After all, I suppose God could have given all of my talents to others…but no, He chose to bestow them upon me. So now what am I to do?_

Erik had been sitting on the rickety old bed in his room, exhausted and finally ready to succumb to sleep after having gone days without it. But before he did, he sorted through his thoughts and came to a point where he never dreamed he would be. He stood and securely closed the door of his little room. He then turned and sat down on the bed again, head in his hands. "God," he prayed softly, "if all that Father Michel has said is true, then show Yourself to me. I do not know where to go, and I feel like a fool for even sitting here now speaking into the air like this…but…if you are there, I need You to tell me what I am supposed to do now." He waited in the silence. Nothing happened. No voices from the sky. No loud claps of thunder or lightning bolts. Just…silence. Erik sighed disgustedly and lay back on his bed. Within minutes, he was sleeping soundly.

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Erik awoke to the sound of a continual knocking on his door. He groggily tried to open his eyes, but they would simply not cooperate. However, he found that his voice was working. "**What**?" he barked.

"Erik, it is nearly noon…I was getting concerned about you. Are you all right, my boy?" the priest's concerned voice traveled through the closed door.

"I am fine, Father." Erik sighed. "Just very tired. I haven't slept in days, you know." He paused. "Did you say it is almost _noon_?"

"Yes, indeed. You have slept half of the day away. But I suppose you needed it, then. Well, whenever you feel up to it, come downstairs and I shall discuss all of the information I have gathered for you about possible housing." The priest continued, "You _are_ still interested in finding your own place, are you not?"

"I am." Erik answered. "I will be down shortly."

"Very well, then." Erik heard Father Michel's footsteps head away from his door and down the stairs.

Erik sat up and rubbed his eyes. They finally opened, but wouldn't focus well. He sighed and swung his legs off of the bed. He sat for a few moments, just trying to wake up, when he remembered his "prayer" from the night before. _Well, no answer…I suppose God is very busy wreaking havoc with someone else's life somewhere_, he thought wryly. He slowly got dressed, smoothed on his wig and mask, and went downstairs to see Father Michel.

"Ah, Erik, please have a seat," Father Michel motioned to the empty armchair as Erik entered his study. "Would you like anything to eat?"

"No. Please tell me what information you have, Father. As you said, the day is half over and time is wasting." Erik said impatiently.

"Well, it seems that someone awoke in a fouler mood than usual today," Father Michel chuckled. Erik glared at him. The priest simply grinned back. "There are two different places available to you, my boy. One is an apartment here in town and the other is located slightly outside the city…" he trailed off.

"I wish to know more about this place outside the city," Erik replied.

"Yes, I thought you might," the priest replied. "Well, you see, it isn't exactly a private apartment, Erik…"

"Would you kindly just _tell_ me?" Erik blurted. "Is there some problem with it? Out with it, _now_!"

"Alright. It is a small house located on a family estate. There is no one living in the house, but…there is a family, members of my parish, who own it and live on the property. You would not be completely alone."

Erik shook his head. "I do not wish to share my life with a family of strangers, Father."

"I am aware that you do not feel comfortable around people, Erik. But this family lives a mile away from the house, so you would have plenty of privacy. And they are very special."

"What exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?" Erik squinted at the old man.

Father Michel sighed. "It means that they will understand someone such as yourself more than most. You see, they have a child, a daughter, who was born with a defect."

Erik raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What kind of defect?"

"She was born crippled. She has never been able to walk on her own, and must be carried wherever she goes. Oh, but she is a very bright girl, very bright. Smart as a whip, that one is. And oh, that voice of hers…" the priest trailed off.

Erik leaned forward in his chair. "Her voice? What about it?"

"It is heavenly, I tell you. A few years ago I called upon the family at their home due to the death of a close relative of theirs…and I heard her singing. Oh, I have never heard a voice so pure and sweet. Just like heaven, Erik. Absolutely lovely." The priest smiled. "Perhaps you and she would get along, as you also have a love of music."

"Perhaps." Erik thought a moment. "Alright. I will go and see this property. But again, I make no promises. If I do not like the arrangement, then something else will have to be found."

Father Michel nodded. "That sounds fair."

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The dark carriage neared a large estate surrounded by mature trees and white fencing that seemed to go on for miles. A large mansion sat on the property, yet Erik thought it looked more friendly than imposing. It had been updated with wrought iron on many parts of the roofing, and Erik was not certain how long the house itself had actually been standing. As the carriage proceeded toward the large, black, wrought iron gates, Father Michel leaned toward Erik. "The Laurent family is a very well-to-do family, Erik. They have inherited this estate from several generations before them. But they are really very kind and God-fearing people. I'm sure that you will like them."

Erik smirked. He rarely "liked" anyone…especially not "well-to-do" persons. _What in the world am I doing here? They are not likely to welcome me…my appearance could frighten them...and I refuse to again become a sideshow attraction for the wealthy. _ "Father, exactly _what_ have you told these people about _me_?"

Father Michel cleared his throat and averted his eyes from Erik's. "I told them that you are an eccentric man who likes to keep to himself, but who is very talented in many areas. I also told them that you had lost your home to a fire recently. They were more than willing to allow you to use the smaller home on the property…it has not been used for quite some time, and they have always intended to use it for anyone who was in need."

Erik thought for a moment. "Well, it seems as though you were somewhat truthful with them." He paused, and then his expression hardened. "They will be afraid of me."

"My boy, why would they be afraid of you?" Father Michel answered, knowing full well that any normal person would be at the least…intimidated…by Erik's presence.

"Because of _this_," Erik answered, motioning to his mask. "And if they aren't afraid, then they will at the very _least_ be incessantly curious and suspicious of me!"

"No, they will not." The priest answered simply, looking at Erik directly and confidently.

"And _why_ will they not be suspicious, Father?" Erik was eyeing the old man warily.

"Because they already know what lies beneath your mask."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks to those of you who are reading. More of you need to review! Please let me know your thoughts. :) I just want to say that I hope none of you feel that Erik is OOC. I am trying to show other sides of him with this story...to me, he is a hardened man because of his past and his pain. He has killed because of it, and at other times (as I am attempting to show in this fiction) he surely must weep because of it as well. Of course, I believe I must thank ALW, Joel Schumacher, and Gerard Butler here for portraying the Phantom/Erik in such a beautiful and moving way. It is THIS Phantom on which I am primarily basing this story. Read on!  
**

**Chapter Seven**

Erik shook his head in disbelief. "**What** did you just tell me?" he nearly shouted at the priest.

"I said that they are aware of your deformity, Erik," the priest replied rather nonchalantly.

Erik was fuming. "How could you **betray** me like this?" He roared. The old man looked terrified as Erik nearly tried to stand inside the moving carriage. "Turn this carriage around NOW!"

"Calm yourself and listen to me!" the priest shouted back. "Erik, I was honest with them. They understand about birth defects—as I told you, their daughter…"

"Their _daughter_ does not have the **devil's face**!" Erik bellowed. He clenched his fists and had to fight everything within him not to strangle the old man right then and there.

"You are correct, Erik," Father Michel said, more calmly now. "She does not have the 'devil's face' and neither do _you_."

Erik's mind was racing. _I have to get out of here_, he thought, cursing. Unfortunately, it was too late. The carriage came to a halt and the head servant of the house strode to the carriage door, opening it for Erik and Father Michel. "Good morning, Monsieur. Father," he nodded.

"Good morning to you," Father Michel answered the servant. _What is his name? Oh, I cannot recall. Gilles? Gerard? No, no…Guillaume! That's it!_ "How are you, Guillaume?"

"I am well, Father," the butler looked slightly surprised at the question. "And you?"

"Very well, thank you." Father Michel began to follow Guillaume into the house but turned to look over his shoulder at Erik. If the priest hadn't known better, he would have sworn that a dark thundercloud was actually stalking behind him. "Erik, my boy, everything will be fine," he whispered to him. Erik straightened his cravat and tilted his fedora further downward over his mask, scowling all the while.

The butler opened the door for the men, and they entered a large foyer with a domed ceiling. Erik was slightly impressed with the architecture. He glanced around him. To his right, he noticed a large set of double doors, which were closed. _The dining room, perhaps?_ he wondered. In front of him was a large, curving staircase leading to the upper floor. The walls were a creamy eggshell color, very pleasing to the eye. A few tapestries hung here and there, and there was an understated elegance to the place. _Well,_ he thought, _at least these people have enough sense to not be gaudy. _To his left there were opened double pocket doors, which led into a lovely sitting parlor. The butler motioned to the men to be seated there. "I will inform Monsieur Laurent that you have arrived," he smiled.

Erik seated himself on the settee, removing his hat and nervously turning it about in his hands. Father Michel was watching him closely. "Erik, I am sorry if I gave them more information than you would have liked…I just thought that it would be easier for you in the long run—to be honest with them beforehand about your…deformity. They know it isn't your fault, and that it is a birth defect of sorts. If anyone should understand, it should be this family, Erik. They have had to deal with much pain and scorn and prying eyes as well, because of their daughter."

"Indeed we have," a deep voice spoke from the doorway. A tall, blond gentleman stood there, smiling at Father Michel. "Father, so nice to see you. How are you?" He entered the room, hand outstretched toward the priest.

"Fine, fine," the priest stood and shook his hand. "Uh…Monsieur Laurent, this is my friend, Erik," he spoke nervously. Erik stood, remembering his manners, and nodded his head at the slender man before him. Monsieur Laurent extended his hand to Erik. "Monsieur Erik, a pleasure to meet you."

"You as well," Erik grumbled, briefly grasping the man's hand before looking away. Erik noted that the man was as tall as he, but would in no way be a match for his own strength and speed. _He is no threat…and he had best not become one._

The priest glanced over at Erik. "Monsieur Laurent, I'm afraid that my friend here is a bit uncomfortable with this arrangement…he believes that I've given you too much information about him." Erik snapped his head up and glared at the priest.

"Yes, and you are **still** talking too much, Father," Erik said through clenched teeth.

Monsieur Laurent chuckled heartily. "Oh, well, he's a priest, what do you expect?" he answered Erik. "Monsieur, I assure you, you are very welcome here. We are glad to have you. I hear that you are quite musically talented. Perhaps once you feel more comfortable here, you would grace us with a piece on our grand piano?"

Erik's face lit up visibly at the words _grand piano_. "Uh…yes…perhaps," he stammered.

"Wonderful," Monsieur Laurent replied. "Now, let's just get this out of the way, shall we? Yes, my family and I are aware that you have a birth defect beneath your mask. And yes, I can see why you would be uncomfortable with our knowing this information…but I want you to know that from our perspective, it is not what is _outside_ that makes the man, but what is _inside_. Don't you agree?" He smiled at Erik.

Erik sneered. "Perhaps if you were unfortunate enough to see my exposed face for yourselves, you would not think such naïve thoughts." He narrowed his eyes at the man. "And I assure _you_…what is _inside_ of me is no more attractive."

Monsieur Laurent appeared to be taken aback. He turned his head away from Erik and addressed the priest. "He certainly is an _honest _one, isn't he?"

"Yes, I am, and I am standing right here, so you will kindly address **me**!" Erik spat.

Monsieur Laurent turned his gaze to Erik again. "I apologize, Monsieur. That was extremely rude of me. You must understand…I have become used to the pointless banter which comes with being a member of 'high society.' It isn't very often that I hear such brutal honesty…and I do appreciate your honesty. But please do not insult me, Monsieur, by asserting that my views on humanity are somehow naïve. I have encountered hardships as well because of my daughter's defect, and I know firsthand that a person's heart is not determined by his or her appearance or ability."

Erik felt as though he had been thoroughly chastised, though he was still indignant. "And **you** must understand, Monsieur, that I have heard nothing but the horrified screams of women and children all of my life…so forgive me for insulting you based upon what **I** have experienced of humanity."

"Very well, then. It seems at least that we understand one another. I am very sorry to hear of what you've endured. But please know that there will be none of that here, Monsieur. We will treat you with the respect that you deserve, and we shall expect to be treated with that respect in return. Agreed?" Monsieur Laurent gave Erik a determined yet kind look.

"Agreed," Erik replied darkly.

"Well, then, it's settled!" the priest chimed in cheerily. "Good, good. Uh…Erik, would you like me to stay and help you settle in a bit? I should be glad to help you unpack or simply…keep you company?"

"That won't be necessary," Erik replied.

The priest looked slightly disappointed. He sighed, "Alright, then. Have it your way. I suppose I shall just go back to my drafty little church…all alone…." He grinned.

Erik shook his head. "Stay if it suits you. Far be it from me to send an old man such as yourself back to his hermit's cave."

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The priest accompanied Erik to the smaller house on the estate and helped him to unpack. He seemed genuinely pleased that Erik had let him stay. He was humming an incessant tune about the house, thoroughly annoying Erik.

"_Must_ you do that?" Erik sighed.

"Do what?" Father Michel asked innocently.

"Butcher a perfectly decent tune in such a manner! Perhaps you should try _whistling_ instead of humming…you may find that you can actually stay on key." Erik tilted his head to the side slightly, raising his chin. "Or perhaps you are just tone deaf."

The priest was somewhat disturbed by Erik's rude behavior, but he chalked it up to nervousness on Erik's part. _He must be feeling even more tense than usual, being in these new surroundings._ "Well! Have you never heard that one must 'make a joyful noise unto the Lord'? Really, Erik, we cannot all be perfect musicians such as yourself, now can we?"

"No, I suppose not," Erik replied cockily as he hung his clothing in the bedroom wardrobe.

Father Michel stopped unpacking Erik's things and stood up straight, placing his hands on his hips. "My boy, something is bothering you. Please, I would like to know what is wrong."

Erik turned toward the old man. "If you _must_ know, I am quite bothered by this whole situation! Several days ago, I thought that I would have the woman I love in my arms forever, but she left me…." He paused and bowed his head slightly. "Then I watched as my home burned from a fire which I caused, and now here I am, moving into a house on some unfamiliar aristocratic estate. I should say that something is very, very wrong with this picture!" He was clearly frustrated and his anger was beginning to surface again.

"Or perhaps there is something very _right_ about it," Father Michel said firmly.

"**Right?** Father, nothing has _ever_ gone right in my life, as I've told you. How on earth could you be so foolish to think that these horrible things were _supposed_ to happen?" Erik asked incredulously.

"I have seen it many times, my boy. Just because things do not happen the way we believe they should happen, does not mean that those aren't the right things for our lives. God has a greater plan for each of us…greater than we could ever imagine. So, even though you made some woeful choices in your life, God is still sovereign and He can direct your steps even when you have no knowledge of it." Father Michel smiled at Erik. "Where might you be right now if you hadn't hidden inside my little church?"

"If God is in control of all these things, then why would he take the _one_ thing I loved away from me?" Erik felt despondent and angry at the same moment. "She was all that I had that was **good** in this world!" He trembled and lowered his gaze to the floor. "Christine…_Christine_…why? Why would He take her away from me?" Erik's shoulders had stiffened and his fists were clenched at his sides.

Father Michel approached Erik slowly. "Erik, only He can answer that for certain. But perhaps there are other things that you are to come to terms with before you are truly ready to have that kind of love in your life…I do not know. I am sorry, my boy." He laid a hand on Erik's shoulder and silently prayed for him as Erik released tears of pain and anger. And again there was an awkward silence.

Finally, after several moments of tension, Father Michel spoke. "We mustn't forget that we have been invited to dinner this evening at the main house. Perhaps we should finish setting up here and take an hour or two to rest until then."

Erik nodded and they continued their work until they both gave in to exhaustion that afternoon.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Well, this chapter will switch gears a bit. I promise to get back to Erik soon:)**

** Chapter Eight**

Christine sat in the de Chagny parlor on the fainting couch, leafing through a book, paying absolutely no attention to its contents. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Such great sadness filled her heart…so great that she felt as though she were losing her father all over again. _I am not losing Father again…but I have lost something just as precious to me_, she thought. She began to feel grief wash over her again, along with a wave of nausea. She couldn't remember how many times she had vomited over the past four days…but she was utterly exhausted from it all. All she could think of was what she had done…how could she blame _him_, when _she_ was the root cause of this whole mess? This mess…her love for two vastly different men…her naivety, thinking that perhaps there was some way to have them both. Oh, how selfish she had been…her emotions had kept her trapped somewhere between being a lost little girl and a woman. _What did I truly feel for_ _him?_ She could no longer fight against the wave of nausea. She dropped her book and raced for the lavatory.

Just as she had finished cleaning her tear-stained face and had rinsed out her mouth with a swig of water, she heard Raoul's voice coming from the hall. He was instructing one of the servants regarding the evening meal. She stood and smoothed out her dress, pinching her cheeks to bring back some of the color. She smiled weakly and stepped out into the hall.

"How are you feeling, Lotte?" he asked her, a concerned look in his eyes.

"I am…better," she lied. "May we go for a walk in the garden now?"

"Of course…and I have been meaning to speak to you about something," he spoke softly as she took his arm and they walked outside to the garden path.

"Christine, I…" he began, apparently searching for the right words. "…I was wondering when you think you might be ready…ready to…." He trailed off as he saw the look of fear upon her countenance. "Forgive me, my love, I know that it may be yet too soon to speak of marriage due to your ordeal." He reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles gently.

Christine averted her brown eyes from his tender gaze. "I wish I knew, Raoul. I…I need more time to…"

"Shhh…" he placed a finger to her lips. "You don't have to explain anything to me, Christine. I understand…and I will be here for as long as it takes," he leaned down to kiss her forehead. She closed her eyes, smiled slightly, and nodded.

"Thank you, " she said softly.

"There is something else I needed to speak to you about. I need to leave town in a few days on family business. My brother, le Comte, is otherwise engaged, so I must go in his stead. I could be gone for a full week. You may stay here, if you like, during that time. The servants will help you with whatever you need," Raoul suggested.

Christine shuddered at the thought of being left alone in the large mansion with only thoughts of her Angel to occupy her. "No…I…think I'd rather go and have a visit with the Girys, if possible."

"Darling, the Girys have not yet secured other housing for themselves, and have been staying with some of their acquaintances from the Opera. Had you forgotten? Do you not wish to remain here?" Raoul questioned her.

"I just…don't want to be alone right now," she confessed. "I am afraid that being here without you would be too much for me, Raoul."

"I see," he spoke gently, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her to him. "Well, give me a bit of time and I shall see if I can make other arrangements for you. I shall call upon some of my friends and see if a visit from my beautiful fiancée might be welcome," Raoul offered. "Leave everything to me, little Lotte." He kissed her hair and he was gone.

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Christine awoke from a brief nap…if it could be called a nap at all. She had experienced disturbing visions while lying on her bed--visions of her Angel in agony--all because of her. _Why did I say such things to him?_ She cried inwardly. _Why did I tell him that his soul was distorted? It isn't true…he has just been hurt so badly all of his life that…that everything turned to hate and fear. It isn't his fault…and there is love in him, as well…I **know **it. Why wasn't I more patient and understanding with him? I **betrayed** him! _She sobbed hard into her pillow until she felt her grief again turn to nausea and was forced to give in to the familiar reflex.

There was a brief knocking at the bedroom door, and it startled her. "Yes?" she questioned.

"It's me, Lotte," came Raoul's voice from beyond the door. _Poor Raoul_, she thought. _Oh, what this must be doing to him!_ She sighed and made her way to the door. She opened it slowly and he stood there, smiling lovingly at her. "I have some good news, Christine," he said happily. "Some of my good friends have agreed to have you for a visit while I am out of town. They have a lovely estate outside the city and are more than happy to have you come. They have been anxious to meet you."

"Oh, that _is_ good news, then," Christine replied, unsure if this really **was **good news. _I don't even know these people. They are strangers to me. Perhaps I should just remain here, _she thought.

Raoul noticed the look of uncertainty on her face. "What is wrong, Christine? Do you not wish to go? I assure you, they are lovely people. Monsieur Gregoire and Madame Suzette have been friends of my parents for some time now. They will have plenty for you to do there to occupy your time…they even have stables, so you could ride if you wish."

"Oh, they have horses?" Christine brightened slightly at the thought. "Well, I trust you if you say that they are kind and that they will welcome me. It is more than I can say for your parents." She blushed slightly at the brutal honesty of her comment.

Raoul looked a bit stunned. "Christine, why would you say that about my parents? They like you," he stated unconvincingly.

"Oh, yes, they like me…so long as I am not to be the next Vicomtess. I can see the way they look at me, Raoul…as though I should be a second rate mistress instead!" Christine was growing bolder by the minute. She couldn't believe that she was daring to speak to Raoul in this way, yet it made her feel better to do so.

"Christine!" Raoul blurted, shocked at her statement. He came close to her and laid his hand on the side of her face gently. "You have never been and never will be 'second rate'—nor anyone's mistress! You are to be my wife, and I am proud of you." A spark of passion lit his eyes as he leaned in to kiss her. She tilted her face upward and their lips met. She suddenly felt a twinge of guilt, and it surprised her. She pulled away nervously and blushed. Raoul misinterpreted her action as a maidenly gesture. If only he had known that she felt as though she betrayed her Angel with that small display of affection.

"So," Raoul stood to his full height. "You will go and visit, then?"

"Yes, I will go," Christine replied. "At least we have the next few days to make ready, yes? I shall need time to pack."

Raoul chuckled. "Why is it that you ladies always feel the need to take your entire season's wardrobe on a short trip?"

"You just never know what to expect, I suppose," she replied, smiling. "It never hurts to be prepared."

A/N-- To IrishHeart: Thank you so much for your kind comments! I am so glad that you're enjoying the story. I will try not to disappoint.

Phanatic4Phantom: Yeah, just couldn't resist getting him in here _somewhere_! LOL


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Erik woke up at about four o'clock that afternoon and saw that Father Michel was still resting. They would be expected for dinner at six o'clock. _Just enough time for a nice hot bath and a fresh change of clothing_, Erik thought, _with perhaps some left over to peruse the collection of shelved books in the sitting room._

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Erik immersed himself in the soothing hot water and leaned his head back to rest on the porcelain tub. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Suddenly, there _she_ was…he could see her in his mind's eye, standing on the rooftop of the Populaire, embracing that **boy**. He opened his eyes quickly and leaned up, grasping the bar of honey soap and scrubbing his body briskly. _Oh, God, if only this could wash her completely away from me…out of my heart and mind! _

He tried to think of other things besides Christine, but she filled his senses. He was suddenly aware that he could almost smell her…that familiar scent of lavender and roses, which was so intoxicating to him. He felt disgusted with himself for being so weak when it came to her. His thoughts drifted back to the night he had first taken her through the mirror and to his home beneath the opera. He could smell her hair and skin as he took her in his arms and sang to her, and he wanted her. _God_, how he wanted her! He had planned for so many years to woo her and make her his wife…the music, the illusion of the Angel of Music, the roses he left for her regularly, the wedding gown he had commissioned, the bedroom he had designed just for her, and the hypnotic seduction of his opera…all of it was to make her love him…and all of it had been burned to ashes, along with much of the Populaire. He had not only smelled her…he had tasted her…the sweetness of her mouth mingled with the saltiness of her tears. _Before she left me for the safety and boredom of that young Vicomte, she gave herself to me in that kiss._ _But what other option did I leave her? It was all to save him!_ Erik thought. _But…why did she kiss me a second time? Not once, but twice…and the second time was very different…almost as though she…no. No! I do not believe it! She couldn't possibly have…feelings…for me…could she? Oh, Erik, you damned fool! Your wishful thinking is getting the better of you!_ Erik finished with his bath and stood, drying himself with a towel and dressing for the evening meal that he was to have with the Laurent family—and trying desperately to put all thoughts of Christine from his mind…at least for a while.

"Ah, I wondered if you were awake," Father Michel addressed him as Erik sauntered out of the bedroom at the back of the house. The old priest had fallen asleep on the settee in the front room and had rested rather awkwardly. He had lines on one cheek and wrinkles on one side of his clothes, clearly indicating that he had been sleeping well during his afternoon nap. "Well, you look quite ready for dinner. Unfortunately, I look like I have slept in my clothes. Perhaps that is because I have!" he chuckled.

"Obviously," Erik replied dryly, eyeing the priest's wrinkled clothing. "Perhaps the Laurents will be so distracted by my mask that no one will notice your horribly wrinkled attire."

"Well, I could only _hope_ for that," the old man chided him. "Perhaps I shall go and at least wash the sleep out of my eyes, then." He strode past Erik down the hall to the lavatory.

Erik sighed. _All this constant chatter_, he thought. _It makes my head hurt. Now, what have we here? _ He walked briskly to the bookshelves and ran his fingers along the titled spines of the books. _Voltaire, Locke, Shakespeare. Hmmm. _ He lifted a large book of the collective works of William Shakespeare from the shelf and sat down in the armchair by the window to glance through it until it was time to leave. _"Much Ado About Nothing." Well, that seems to fit my life perfectly right now, so I shall have a look_, he thought, amused with himself. _How is it that I can find any humor at a time like this?_ he wondered. He chuckled as he read, however, as the sarcastic banter between Benedick and Beatrice flowed so easily. _These two characters seem to hate each other_, he thought, _and yet there is such chemistry between them. I shall have to continue this story tonight after the meal. _Erik dog-eared the page and closed the book.He stood as he heard Father Michel exit the lavatory and come back down the hall.

"Ready to go, Erik?" the priest questioned, looking slightly refreshed from his recent face-scrubbing.

"As ready as one _can_ be, I suppose," Erik shrugged.

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"Come in, Father, Monsieur Erik, please. Have a seat." Monsieur Laurent smiled at them as they entered the wooden double doors leading to the large dining room. The room was a light rose color and floral arrangements were set on white pedestals in each corner of the room. A fireplace served as the center focus of one wall, and an oil canvas of a garden hung neatly above it. The long rectangular dining table was cherry wood, and a small crystal chandelier hung overhead. _Elegant, but not gaudy_, Erik thought again.

Monsieur Laurent motioned to two chairs on his left, and the two men took their seats. "So, how is everything going at the guest house?" He asked politely.

Erik glanced at Father Michel and briefly waited for him to respond. He did not. "Everything is fine. Thank you." Erik replied succinctly.

"Glad to hear it," Monsieur Laurent responded. "Dinner will be served momentarily. My wife and daughter are anxious to meet you, Monsieur Erik," he said, smiling warmly.

"I can't imagine why," Erik replied darkly, looking suspiciously at the man.

Monsieur Laurent chuckled. "Ah, here they are now."

Erik turned to see a tall, slender woman enter the room, wearing a modest lavender dress and wearing only a small amount of gold jewelry. Her blond hair was piled neatly on top of her head, and her brown eyes sparkled when she smiled. "Good evening," she nodded to Erik and Father Michel. She was followed by a servant carrying a girl who appeared to be about fourteen years of age. The girl had straight brown hair, which fell to the middle of her back in a braid. She was dressed in a blue flowered dress that accented her blue eyes perfectly.

"Father, I believe you already know my wife and daughter. Monsieur Erik, this is my wife Suzette and my daughter, Amêlie."

Madame Laurent curtsied and held her hand out to Erik. He grasped it cordially and nodded his head at her but did not kiss her hand. "So nice to meet you, Monsieur Erik. I am pleased that you have come to stay with us." She smiled at him, and Erik read no fear in her eyes.

"Thank you, Madame," he replied sincerely. He turned to see the servant settling young Amêlie into her dining chair. "Hello," she said, wrinkling her nose as she smiled at him.

_She has her mother's smile_. "Good evening, Mademoiselle," Erik spoke in a softer tone of voice so as not to frighten her.

"Father says that you are a musician. What instrument do you play?" the young girl asked Erik directly.

"I play several. Piano, organ, violin…" he answered her.

"Oh! Violin! I should love to hear the violin!" Amêlie interrupted excitedly.

Erik frowned. "I'm afraid that when my home was burned, my violin met the same fate."

"Oh." Her expression turned to one of disappointment. "Well, we do have a lovely piano! Perhaps after dinner you could play for us?" she asked sweetly.

"Amêlie, mind your manners!" Suzette reprimanded her. "Monsieur Erik has only just arrived and would most likely wish to rest this evening after our meal."

"Yes, Mother. I apologize, Monsieur Erik. I…I just suppose I wasn't thinking." She bit her lip and lowered her gaze.

Erik smiled slightly. "Actually, it wouldn't be much trouble. I haven't been able to play a piano in quite some time due to my…situation."

Amêlie's face broke into a wide grin. "Oh, _would_ you? Thank you so much, Monsieur!"

The servants came in carrying trays of food and everyone was served. Dinner was pleasant enough as Erik watched the Laurents smiling and laughing with one another. Father Michel even joined in, but Erik felt like he was the dark cloud over the whole evening. Still, none of them made him feel as though he didn't belong. He began to relax and even chuckled slightly at some of their stories.

"Oh, Gregoire, really, you must tell your story about the time you traveled to the Holy Lands and saw so many interesting sights!" Suzette encouraged her husband.

"Ah, there is really nothing to tell, mon cher. I'm sure that Father Michel knows what is there and would be thoroughly bored hearing about it," he responded, shaking his head.

"Nonsense!" Father Michel replied. "I should love to hear about what you saw when you were there, as I'm sure Erik would. I have never visited the Holy Lands."

"Well, I saw all of the typical sights…Mount of Olives, Garden of Gethsemane, the Church of the Nativity, the Via Dolorosa…it was quite a bit of history, I must say. Monsieur Erik, do you know much about the history of the Holy Lands?" Monsieur Laurent asked curiously.

Erik was startled by the question. He cleared his throat. "I am aware that it is held by many to be a sacred place, Monsieur, by Jews, Christians, and Muslims. I suppose I have never taken the time to research much about it," he replied honestly.

"And why not?" Monsieur Laurent demanded.

Erik was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable. "I have busied myself with other things…composing music, designing, architecture…hobbies of that sort."

"Do you find that religious matters are not to your liking?" Monsieur Laurent pressed Erik further.

_This man is rather forward to be asking me such questions!_ "Monsieur, I am not certain that I like your tone," Erik replied darkly. "Do you have a problem with those who do not enjoy discussing religion?"

Suzette reached out and patted Erik's arm. "Oh, goodness, no, Monsieur! This is just Gregoire's way. He likes to engage people in the most taboo topics of conversation!" She laughed warmly. "Gregoire, if he does not wish to discuss his religious beliefs, then you should not force him. After all, he is our guest, not a **spy**, for heaven's sake!" She grinned at her husband.

"I should simply like to know what sort of man will be living in our guest house, ma cherie," Monsieur Laurent responded to his wife. He turned his gaze again to Erik. "Monsieur, I did not mean to offend you. But if you will indulge me, please do tell me about what you mentioned before…your composing and architecture."

Erik straightened in his chair. "I have done much composing, though very little of it has been published. And most of my works were unfortunately destroyed in the fire. I have also done some designs and architectural work…but that was long ago."

"I should like to see what you can do in the way of architecture, Monsieur. I have an acquaintance in Melun who is looking for another architect at his firm. Would you be interested in acquiring an interview?" Monsieur Laurent questioned.

"Y-yes, I believe I would," Erik stammered. He looked at Father Michel with a stunned countenance, eyes wide. _Can this be happening? Could I actually obtain gainful, legal employment by using my talents in this way? Perhaps my prayers have not gone unheard after all, _Erik thought. Then suddenly, his insecurity reared its ugly head. _They will never hire a man like you…you would only be a freak to them! _His thoughts were interrupted by Monsieur Laurent's voice.

"Wonderful! Now, shall we retire to my study and have a look at what you can do?" he asked.

"Yes," Erik replied simply. He noticed then that young Amêlie had a sudden look of sadness upon her face. He leaned forward slightly and spoke to her softly across the table. "I have not forgotten about you, Mademoiselle. I shall play for you as soon as your Father and I have finished." Her face brightened and she smiled at him.

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Monsieur Laurent, Father Michel and Erik stood around the large mahogany desk in the study, looking at the impromptu sketches that Erik had drawn. "I must say, I am quite impressed with your drawings here, Monsieur Erik," Monsieur Laurent commented warmly. "You have quite an eye for detail. I am almost certain that Monsieur Giroux will want to hire you immediately."

Father Michel smiled at Erik with a look of pride upon his face. "Yes, my boy…you are a man of many talents, I see." He patted Erik on the back. "Now…I believe that you have a prior appointment which you must keep." He motioned with his head toward the door, where a servant was once again holding Amêlie.

"Yes, of course. My prior appointment," Erik winked at the young girl and asked, "Now, where is this piano of yours?"

"Right this way, Monsieur. Follow me!" she giggled as Erik followed the servant down the hall into a door on the right. "This is my favorite room in the entire house! It's sort of a library for me. I come here when I want to be alone and think." The servant seated Amêlie in a high backed chair near the piano. She folded her hands in her lap gently and looked up at Erik. "Please, what will you play?"

Erik had not played for anyone except Christine and Father Michel in such a long time…he was feeling a bit nervous. His tension grew further as he heard a noise at the door to the room and Monsieur and Madame Laurent entered, followed closely by Father Michel. Erik nodded at them and turned back to Amêlie. "Mademoiselle, do you have a favorite song which you like to sing?"

Amêlie looked surprised and delighted all at once. She blushed nervously and replied, "Do you know the _Messiah_?"

At first, Erik was not sure what the young girl was speaking about, but then he realized that she was referring to the musical work of Handel. "Ah, yes, I am familiar with it. Where would you like to begin?" Amêlie motioned for Erik to come closer to her, and continued to motion until he was inches from her face. She looked deeply into his eyes, and he felt strange…to be so close to such innocence was almost unbearable for him. _If she knew my crimes, she would never wish to be this close to me_, he thought to himself. She whispered in his ear, and he nodded. "Very well," he spoke aloud, seating himself at the piano. "Shall we begin?"

Amêlie nodded. Erik began to play the beginning of the music for Act II of the Messiah. On cue, the young girl began to sing:

"Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world…"

Erik closed his eyes.

"…He was despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. He gave His back to the smiters, and His cheeks to them that plucked off the hair: He hid not His face from shame and spitting…"

He abandoned himself to the ethereal, innocent sound of her voice and it was as though he were truly hearing the words for the first time in his life.

"…Surely He hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows! He was wounded for our transgressions; He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him. And with His stripes we are healed…"

He unconsciously began to tremble as he thought about the suffering servant, the Christ...they spat on His face…He was wounded and bruised….

"…All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way. And the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all."

Amêlie had stopped singing, though Erik continued to play, lost in the music. After a few moments, he came to his senses and ended the song. As he opened his eyes, he felt a tear escape and he quickly turned away from all eyes that were fastened upon him. He discreetly wiped the tear from his cheek and turned to smile at Amêlie. "That was lovely, Mademoiselle. You sing…like an angel." He meant it. Though she was quite young, he believed that she had the potential to become a great singer one day. "You must be sure to continue with your singing as you mature. Perhaps one day you will sing before a much larger audience."

Amêlie had tear streaks on her cheeks. "Monsieur Erik, I have never heard anyone play with such emotion. Thank you for allowing me to sing with you. You are wonderful." Her eyes brimmed over with tears and she bowed her head humbly.

If she truly knew me, would she still say such things? "Thank you, Mademoiselle. And now, I believe that I am growing rather tired. Would you mind if I excused myself, Monsieur? Madame?"

"Oh, not at all!" Monsieur Laurent waved a hand at Erik. "You have done enough entertaining for one evening, I believe! I shall arrange an interview for you with Monsieur Giroux. If…he would like to set it up for tomorrow, would you consider going on such short notice?"

"I believe I have no other plans at the moment," Erik replied honestly. "Notify me as soon as you have received word from him." He paused. "And thank you for the meal." Erik turned on his heel and left the room. He heard Father Michel excuse himself as well and turned to find him following him out to the foyer.

"Erik, would you mind if I stayed over at the guest house tonight? It is growing late and an old man such as myself needs to get to bed at a decent hour. I promise I won't be any trouble, and I'll take my leave in the morning."

"Fine." Erik thought for a moment. "Father, does an _old man_ such as yourself require the use of a _bed _for the night, or would you do well enough with the settee in the front room?" He cocked one dark eyebrow, hoping that the old man would choose the option of less comfort.

"Well, I am getting old, my boy. Could you suffer through one night on the settee?" Father Michel asked with some trepidation.

Erik sighed. "Somehow, I _knew_ this arrangement was too good to be true," he grimaced.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: No reviews for the last chapter? Hmmm. Have I frightened you all away? I know that there are more than five or six of you reading, so please, give me feedback! Pretty please?**

**Chapter Ten**

Father Michel had retired to the bedroom for the night and Erik was seated on the settee in his nightclothes, leafing through the pages of _"Much Ado About Nothing"_ once again. _I had might as well read…I'm not likely to get any decent sleep on this dreadful piece of furniture anyhow._ Erik read for what seemed like hours, and laughed loudly at certain points of the play. He had not laughed quite like that in…years? He couldn't remember if he had ever laughed so heartily. He was amazed at the quick wit and banter between the characters. He found it interesting that Signior Benedick, who had sworn never to marry, would fall in love with Beatrice, who had never yet found a man worthy of her…and that he would challenge one of his closest friends to prove his love for her. All of this was achieved through means of good-natured trickery by mutual friends. _Perhaps if I had some well-meaning friends, Christine could have been persuaded to love me as well...no matter how boorish I am, _he thought. Then he scowled in annoyance._ Why must every subject always come full circle back to her?_ He sighed, slammed the book closed, and set it on the floor. He leaned back on the settee, placing his hands behind his head.

Erik thought back upon how the day had progressed. He was excited at the prospect of employment with this architectural firm in Melun, but he did not know how the details would work out if he were to be employed by them. He would simply have to make it clear to them that they must work to accommodate **him**, and not the other way around. _After all, would they really want a freak of nature coming to work in their offices every day?_ He chuckled slightly. _No, I am certain that they will allow me to work from home…especially once they have seen me in the flesh. _He had been a bit taken aback when Monsieur Laurent had suggested that he interview for a job…and he had realized about halfway through the evening that no one had asked him about his mask--or even looked askew at it. _Perhaps Father Michel is correct…perhaps all of these occurrences of late have **not** been mistakes._

Erik was busy studying the ceiling when he heard Amêlie singing in his head. _Why had she chosen that particular piece of music? Likely only because it is her favorite_, he thought. _But why does she favor something that so clearly conveys such suffering and pain? Is it because she has suffered from her disability?_

"_Because of His great love for us, He did all of this, and for no other reason."_ Erik recalled the words that Father Michel had spoken to him just days ago. "That's it!" Erik spoke aloud. _She loves that music because His suffering was for her…and…for…._ He sighed, exasperated. _I just cannot seem to get away from all of this, can I?_ he questioned. "Fine, I will do this much," he spoke in the direction of the ceiling. "I will give You a chance…if I obtain this position, I will know that You have been listening and that You truly have some sort of plan for me…and that You are in control of things somehow. But if not, then I want You to leave me **alone**!" Erik nearly shouted. He hoped that he hadn't awakened Father Michel. The last thing he needed was for the old priest to overhear this "deal" that he had made with the Almighty.

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Father Michel had left for his church early that morning, shortly after Erik had awakened. Erik was surprised that he had finally succumbed to a broken sleep, even if only for a few hours. Yet those few hours had been continually interrupted with horrific nightmares, and he awoke in a cold sweat more than once.

His interview with Monsieur Giroux took place in the late afternoon at three o'clock. As tired as he was, he had felt a surge of energy during his interview when he showed Monsieur Giroux examples of what he could do. The man had smiled and nodded, clearly impressed. Erik was there for a good hour, drawing and answering the myriad of questions being asked. Finally, Monsieur Giroux had extended his hand to Erik. "The job is yours, if you want it."

"Thank you, Monsieur. I do," Erik replied, returning his handshake. He was again greatly surprised that the man had made no mention of his mask--although he got several strange looks from others in the office. "But I require one thing of _you_…I wish to work from home and send my designs to you by messenger. I believe it would be more…comfortable…for everyone involved." Erik studied the man's face, waiting for his reaction.

Monsieur Giroux rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. "Very well. I suppose you may be right, Monsieur Erik. I believe you will be a great asset to this firm. I thank you for your willingness to come in on such short notice."

"It was not a problem," Erik replied honestly.

"By the way, there is the matter of payment…shall I send your salary to the Laurent estate or elsewhere?" the man asked.

"I will have my financial advisor contact you," Erik said, placing his fedora upon his head. "His name is Renault. You should hear from him shortly, and he will instruct you as to where the funds should be sent."

"Very well, then. I do have one more question…if I am to make payments in your name, Monsieur, then…I…I'm afraid I do not know your surname," Monsieur Giroux eyed Erik a bit warily.

Erik cleared his throat. _Curiosity killed the cat, Monsieur._ "As I said, Monsieur Renault will contact you with all of the information you will need. Good day to you, Monsieur."

Monsieur Giroux was surprised at Erik's abruptness. "Good day. I shall send the newest projects to the Laurent house for you by messenger," he said, extending his hand to Erik again as Erik grasped it firmly. He then nodded at his new employer, lowered his fedora over the right side of his face, and turned swiftly on his heel to return home.

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Erik was alone in the carriage on the ride home, and he was glad…for the moment that he had seated himself inside and it had begun its journey homeward, his tension was released in a steady stream of tears and muffled sobs. He pulled the dark carriage curtains closed. He was in absolute disbelief…_I have a job_, he thought, _like any normal man. I will be earning my living through honest means._ As he wept, he felt an unfamiliar twinge in his belly…hope. "Thank You," he whispered to his unseen Benefactor, "_Thank _You."

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Erik tossed his fedora on the settee upon entering the small guest house and felt his stomach rumble. He stepped into the kitchen and put a kettle on the stove, stoking the fire beneath it. He opened the cabinets for the first time and noticed that they were fully stocked with food. Finding some bread and cheese, he decided to have a light snack before the evening meal. He had again been invited to dine at the main house with the Laurents and found himself actually looking forward to it.

He settled himself at the small, wooden table in the kitchen and served himself. The house was completely silent, and he realized that he was actually missing the company of the old priest. _Who would have ever thought that the Phantom and a man of the cloth would share anything in common…let alone initiate a friendship?_ He shook his head and finished his food and tea, listening only to the sound of his own chewing.

Erik missed his violin and his organ. He felt utterly bored in this place, though he was grateful to have a place to call "home" again. _What is there to do around here?_ he wondered. He stood from the table and walked outside. In the distance, he could see a small row of wooden buildings. _It is over an hour yet until supper_, he thought. _A walk outdoors would be…a welcome change of scenery, I suppose._ He smiled to himself, not believing that he was actually walking outdoors, feeling the cool breeze upon his face and arms. _All that I have missed because of this…_He touched his mask instinctively and sighed. _Most people would take this for granted...walking outdoors in freedom with no one staring at them…feeling as though they were finally free. _He came closer to the buildings and saw movement around them. At first he was startled, but then he chuckled to himself as he realized what the movements were…horses. Not since his time in Persia had he been around horses in the open. _The ones in the opera house were lovely, but there is nothing like watching a horse run free outside, the wind blowing through its coarse mane_, he thought fondly.

Erik had always had a way with animals…cats and horses being his favorites. He hadn't realized how much more lonely he had been without their presence in his life…until now. He slowly approached one of the horses, a black mare that had been observing him for a few moments. Erik could see that she was a proud horse—suspicious, and appearing quite menacing due to her dark exterior. _Much like myself_, he thought. As he drew nearer, he clucked softly with his tongue and the horse whinnied. He held out his right hand and stroked the horse's neck. She did not pull away in fear, but rather ceased her fidgeting and stood very still, listening to the sound of Erik's voice as he whispered to her.

Suddenly, a short, plump man appeared from within the stables. "Ah! You must be the gentleman living at the guest house!" He extended his hand to Erik. "I am Jacques," he said. "I am the caretaker for these beauties here."

Erik grasped the man's hand firmly. "Erik," he replied. "What can you tell me about this particular horse?" he asked, stroking the mare gently.

"Ah, she can be a wild one," Jacques chuckled. "Her name is 'Baptême du Feu', Monsieur. If you should ever attempt to ride her, you will understand why." He shook his head. "Threw me off the first time I tried…and the second, and the third…and after that, I gave up!"

"Does she have a saddle?" Erik asked.

Jacques looked at him, stunned. "You're not seriously going to ride her, are you, Monsieur? You could be killed!"

Erik laughed darkly. "Well, then the world shall finally be rid of me. Now…her tack?"

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Jacques looked as though he were going to faint. Erik had put all of the equipment on the horse and had effortlessly ridden her around the stables. He spoke softly to the mare the entire time, and Jacques thought that Erik must have used some sort of magic to subdue the horse. "As I live and breathe!" Jacques said, crossing himself. Erik laughed aloud again, for the second time in two days. He felt a smile cross his countenance. He gently dug his heels into the mare and she picked up speed, racing across the field toward a clump of trees. Erik felt the wind blowing about him and experienced a sensation of joy that he had not known since he had been in the presence of another painfully beautiful lady…_Christine._


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks so much for all of the reviews! This chapter is a bit unusual…but I want you all to know that I did my best with it…I can't do anything but stay true to my vision of the story. I hope that you like it. If you hate it, please don't throw rocks at me:)**

** Chapter Eleven**

"Have you seen my blue shawl?" Christine asked her maid anxiously. "I have looked everywhere for it and it seems to have grown legs and walked away!" She sat down on her bed, exasperated.

"Mademoiselle, is this the one you are looking for?" the maid answered, holding up the very item in question.

"That's it!" Christine jumped up and snatched the shawl from the maid, smiling. "Oh, thank you! It must have been right under my nose the whole time! Now, would you mind helping me to sort through all of these clothes and choose the ones I would most likely need for my stay? I really could use another woman's opinion."

The maid looked slightly surprised. "Of course, Mademoiselle, if you insist."

Christine frowned. "Well, you don't have to help me if you would rather be doing other things, I suppose." _I don't even want to go on this silly trip, _she thought._ I know of someplace else I would rather be_…her heart nearly leapt at the thought, and she felt ashamed of herself.

"Oh, no, Mademoiselle, I didn't mean it that way. I should be glad to help."

"Good." Christine smiled at the young maid. "I should also like it if you could accompany me on this trip…I do not know anyone at the Laurent house, and I would rather not ask a stranger to help me lace my corset every day!" she said, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, I understand. After I finish with your packing, I shall attend to my own," the maid answered her.

"Oh, Helene, I hope that we will enjoy ourselves there. Raoul says that they own horses!"

"I do not ride horses, Mademoiselle. I did not grow up with them as perhaps you and le Vicomte did…they frighten me a little," Helene replied honestly.

Christine furrowed her eyebrows and sighed. "Well, perhaps I shall have to find another riding partner for the duration of our stay." She folded a few garments and laid them gently into her luggage. "Now…only about twenty more frocks to go," she giggled.

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The evening meal with the Laurents had come and gone, and Erik had enjoyed the conversation around the table. Young Amêlie had asked Erik a myriad of questions about musical compositions he had written, and he had even played a few simple songs for her on the piano after supper had ended.

However, most of the conversation had revolved around Erik and his new job. The Laurents were thrilled that everything had gone so well for Erik, and they had made it known with their smiles and encouraging words. Never before had Erik felt so welcomed and so much like part of a family. There was a large part of him, however, that he guarded very closely…he had been hurt too much in the past and did not want to expose his vulnerabilities before these people. They had been nothing but kind to him, and yet, trusting others was something that Erik feared he may never fully learn.

He retired to the guest house and expected to have a restful sleep, as everything in his life seemed to be going well for a change. He put out the light and lay down in the lumpy bed. _Well, at least it is a sturdy bed…not at all like the one at the church. _ He sighed. _How can people sleep in these uncomfortable contraptions? Then again…my sleeping arrangements in the past were never exactly…normal. _He closed his eyes and soon his breathing became slow and regular as he drifted off.

_Screams….fire…a smell of burning flesh…a wave of nausea…the crack of a whip. Searing pain upon his back…the sound of his own screaming. His hands in chains...his feet in shackles…stripped naked and bare before an unseen tormentor. Roaring laughter coming from every direction. "Come! Come and see the devil's child!" Loud roaring like that of thousands of animals in unison--"We have you now! There is no escape for you! No hope! You will always be the devil's child!" Hot scratches upon his chest and face…claws digging into his neck. No! NO! HELP ME, PLEASE!_

"**Help me**!" Erik shouted aloud and sat bolt upright in bed. Shaking and sweating, he realized he was experiencing another nightmare. _It was so real_, he thought. _Oh, God…so real._ He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, his legs so wobbly that he had to grip the bedpost to steady himself. He practically hobbled to the lavatory and splashed some water on his face. He stood for what seemed like several minutes, just trying to rid himself of the terrified, foreboding feeling that his nightmare had evoked in him. Finally he made his way down the hall to the kitchen. Finding a bottle of wine and a glass, he seated himself at the small table and proceeded to drink until he could no longer see, smell, or feel any remnants of his dream. Erik returned to bed well over an hour later, quite intoxicated and ill at ease, and fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

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About mid-morning, Erik awoke to the sound of someone pounding on his front door. By the time he managed to drag himself from the bed, the insistent knocker was gone, leaving only a large envelope on the doorstep. Erik knew at once that this must be some work from his new employer. _So soon?_ he thought. _Ah, well, I shall see about starting on this at a later time. After all, it is nearly the week's end and God knows I could use some rest._

Erik laid the package on the kitchen table and walked slowly to the back of the house. He was thoroughly drained from such lack of sleep over the past several days, as well as being rather hung over, and he had decided on going back to bed. He hoped that he would not be awakened again, as he heard the sound of rain begin to splatter upon the roof. His eyes grew heavier and he rolled onto his side, giving in to his body's needs.

But it was not to be. Erik jerked violently in his sleep as another nightmare overtook him. This one was even more vivid than the last…_disembodied__faces in agony…faces that looked familiar to him…young girls…old men…torture chambers…a black cloaked figure…a Punjab lasso…a stage hand at the Opera_…_Piangi_…disturbing images from Erik's horrendous past surrounded him…Erik knew them all too well. In his nightmare, he was standing upright, as a large, black, clawed hand reached into his chest and violently grasped his heart. A searing pain shot through his chest and he found that he could not breathe, as the hand gripped more and more tightly, until he thought that he would surely die within seconds. He knew he could not even scream for help. Panic overtook him. _Help me!_ he cried out in his mind. _Oh, God, help me! God…God…**J-Jesus**! Help me!_ Suddenly a light began to infiltrate his vision…he felt the clawed hand begin to weaken…the light grew in its intensity…his breath began to return to his lungs…the clawed hand shook as though it were attempting to hold on to Erik's heart for dear life…the light continued to grow until Erik could no longer keep his eyes open…_Help me! _The hand released its grip and an unearthly shriek pierced Erik's ears…and still the light shone, even through his closed eyelids. Suddenly, he felt free from the dark grip and the horrific images from his past began to fade slowly…but the light remained there, all around him, and he felt as though it were penetrating through every pore of his body. He shook and fell to his knees, as if pulled down by an unseen hand. The light was almost painful now, and he placed his forehead to the ground and covered his head with his hands, still trembling violently. And then…a Voice…one like he had never heard before…_was it even a voice? It sounded almost like…roaring waters…like a thunderstorm…like a powerful rumbling noise all at once,_ Erik thought. It frightened him beyond words and he could no longer think—he believed that he was surely dead when the Voice spoke.

"_I have come."_

Erik did not understand what was happening. He began to weep and shake violently, and fear nearly paralyzed his heart. He tried to ask the Voice, _"Who? Who are you?" _but he could not find his own voice, let alone his own breath.

And as suddenly as the Voice had come, it left…the light faded, and Erik woke up in his bed, still trembling and weeping.

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Erik sat for several moments, recalling his dream…but it did not even feel like a dream. It felt like it had actually occurred…the darkness of the gripping hand on his heart, the light that came when he had called out for help…the Voice that did not even sound like a voice…it felt more real than anything Erik had ever experienced. His chest still ached from the lack of breath and the pressure upon his heart.

The next thing Erik realized was that he had dropped to the floor beside his bed…had he been trying to stand? He couldn't remember. He placed his forehead on the floor, as he had done in his dream, and wept. _Those faces…all those faces…all that I have done…I cannot bear it!_ "Oh, **God**, I cannot bear this pain! Give me peace!" he shouted and sobbed at once. Rocking back and forth in agony with his arms wrapped around him, Erik began to emit a guttural wail that shook him to his very core. It was as if years of pain came gushing forth from his heart in that moment. "I **hate** what I am! I **hate** what I have done! Oh, God! Help me! Save me from what I have become!" And then Erik remembered what he had thought in his sleep…while he was yet unconscious…he had spoken that name…. "**Jesus**! Rescue me from this monster that I have become! Oh, God, oh, **God**!" he wailed uncontrollably. Pent up rage, anger and regret began to well up inside him and he pounded his fists against the floor. "No! NO! There is no hope for me! God help me! I have done **too much**! I have killed too many!"

Erik now sobbed painfully. He wept for what seemed like hours, his unmasked face drenched with tears…but the longer he wept, the lighter he felt. He finally felt himself begin to lift up off of the rough wooden floor and he straightened his back and shoulders—he had never felt so utterly…weightless…before. It was as if someone had removed a heavy anvil from his back…he could not even fully comprehend the sensation. And suddenly, he thought he heard something…it wasn't a sound in the room, but it seemed like a voice…_a thought, perhaps?_ But the thought had not originated from his own mind…it was a thought completely foreign to him: _"Erik, I have forgiven you…and you are Mine."_

**A/N**: Well, if you're reading this, you've survived! Congratulations! This was a heavy one, I know. My vision of it was based upon my own thoughts as well as testimony from real people, as well as Scripture.

Thank you to poetzproblem, holly, J, Haley Macrae, and Mlle.Fox for reviewing! Keep 'em comin'! –hugs-

To Mlle. Fox: Your concerns are duly noted. Erik's "deal" with God was my way of illustrating his immaturity in spiritual matters, but also illustrates how God often "meets us where we are." Don't worry—he'll grow. –wink- Um…about the E/C thing…all I can say is that they both will have a lot of growing to do…sorry if my particular vision for this story disappoints you. Thanks for reviewing.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Big hugs to MastersofNight for finding a pretty important error! In case you were wondering…Chapter Nine has been edited to reflect the change. And I forgot to add my author's notes and thanks to the page. So, I thank all of my reviewers again. Lurkers—drop me a line! I hope you liked Chapter Eleven…it was a difficult chapter for me to write. I would really like to know what you all think. Thanks.** :) 

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom in any way, shape, or form, and I do not own any composer listed in this entire fiction. All credit goes to ALW & cohorts, Bach, Handel, Mozart, and any other who may pop up in this story._

**Chapter Twelve**

Erik woke up on the floor next to his bed. He could tell from the shadows in the bedroom that it was late in the afternoon, and he had slept the day away. Strangely enough, he did not feel sore or uncomfortable from sleeping so many hours on the hard, wooden floor. He actually felt as though he had just had the best sleep of his life. No more nightmares. No more cold sweats. Something was different…something had happened to him, and he knew it, though he could not explain it. He stood up slowly from the floor and sat down on the unmade bed, placing his head in his hands.

_What has happened to me?_ _I don't even feel…like **me** anymore._ And then he realized what was different within him…the feelings of loneliness, bitterness and rage that he had worn like his cloak—they were no longer at the surface of his conscious mind. In place of those things was…stillness…peace. He remembered calling out to God for peace, and apparently, God had heard his prayer. He felt strange…as if he were not the only one in the room. He raised his head to look around him, fully knowing that he would see no one there. _But there is a presence here with me. I am not alone_, Erik realized. He suddenly remembered the last words he had heard in his mind before he fell into a deep sleep: _"I have forgiven you, and you are Mine." _ _Who_…who had spoken those words to his heart? He trembled as the reality dawned on him…God had seen his sins and had forgiven him. _Can this be real? Is it true, or was it just a dream?_ He recalled the story that Father Michel had told him of his own life. _He said that God forgave him and changed his life…has He…would He really do the same for me?_ Erik was unsure of how to act or feel at that moment. He knew that he desperately needed to speak with the old priest soon…he had questions to ask him that required answers.

He bathed and dressed for the evening meal and walked briskly over the muddy ground to the main house. The Laurents greeted him warmly and he felt at home once again. There was a brief mention that the family was to have a houseguest who would arrive the next afternoon. They informed Erik that he would be quite welcome to come and dine with all of them the next evening. He had simply nodded in acknowledgement. Erik was very quiet during the meal…more quiet than usual, and Amêlie took note of it.

"Monsieur Erik, may I ask you a question?" she said politely.

"Of course, Mademoiselle," he replied, chewing his food.

"You are _different_ this evening…has something happened?"

Erik nearly dropped his fork. He stared at the young girl and wondered if she had somehow read his mind. There was a sudden silence from all parties at the dining room table, and he finished chewing his food before he answered. He chose his words carefully, for he did not want to reveal too much—but he did not wish to lie to the girl, either. "I…well, I...do not really know," he spoke softly.

"Are you alright?" she asked, wrinkling her brow.

Erik chuckled. "Yes, I am alright. Thank you for asking. Everything is fine," he replied honestly.

Amêlie was watching him closely. She could tell from his body language that he was keeping something from her. "Can you tell me what has happened?"

Suzette looked thoughtfully at her daughter. "Amêlie, perhaps Monsieur Erik does not wish to discuss this right now, in mixed company," she glanced at her husband. "Gregoire, I do believe that I am quite full from this wonderful meal. Would you take a walk with me out in the orchard?" she smiled.

"Suzette, I have not…" Monsieur Laurent trailed off, noticing the frown on his wife's face. "Oh, alright, of course. A walk in the orchard would be _lovely_." He laid his napkin over his plate and pushed back his chair. "You two go ahead and finish your meal. We will return soon," he smiled.

After they left the room, Amêlie repeated her question to Erik. He raised his visible eyebrow and sighed. "You are very perceptive, Mademoiselle Amêlie. Very well, I shall tell you, if you promise not to repeat _anything_ I say to _anyone_ else…**ever**."

Amêlie's eyes grew wide. She nodded at Erik. "I promise."

He took a deep breath. "Today I…I had a dream. It was like nothing I've ever experienced before…it was terrifying at first, but then in my dream, I…" he paused, noticing that she was listening intently, with a look of expectation in her eyes.

"I cried out to God for help, and…then there was a light…and then I woke up and it felt as though He were there in my room with me."

Erik paused, but Amêlie simply nodded, as if she completely understood.

He shook his head. "I do not understand what happened next…but all I know is that I believe…I believe that He…that Jesus Christ…took my burden from me--the sin that I have carried all of my life. I just…feel different."

Amêlie smiled. "You see. I just knew it! You _are_ different, Monsieur Erik! Because He has changed you! He has made you a new creation in Christ, just like the Bible says! Oh, I am so _excited_ for you! I just **knew** that He would do something like this! He loves you _very much_, Monsieur Erik. He always has," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

Erik was speechless. This child had more wisdom than many adults, he was sure of it. "Thank you, Mademoiselle," he replied, trying to hold back his own tears. " I…I do not know…if I have ever heard anything sweeter in my whole life than those words." And he meant it.

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When Monsieur Gregoire and Madame Suzette returned from their walk, they found Erik and Amêlie at the piano, singing a song together. Their eyes grew wide as they heard the voice that flowed from this dark and strange man. It was the voice of an angel, they thought. Full and rich, glorious and mesmerizing, reaching skyward in one instant and dropping back down to the earth in the next. They had never heard its equal. Amêlie's voice paled in comparison, but Erik sang along with her, as though they were one voice, his fingers running deftly over the piano keys. When the song ended, the Laurents applauded loudly and Erik and Amêlie were startled…they had been so lost in the music that they had not heard them enter the room. Amêlie blushed, and Erik smoothed his wig, nodding his head at them slightly.

"Monsieur, Madame, I have been meaning to ask you something," Erik began.

"Yes, what is it?" Monsieur Laurent asked curiously.

"Why do you not have a wheelchair for Amêlie?"

Monsieur Laurent paused and shot an uneasy glance at his wife. "We…have never…seen the need for one, I suppose."

"Forgive me for being so blunt, Monsieur…but, your daughter is fourteen, and she cannot be carried around by servants for her entire life, can she?" Erik spoke with a concerned and sincere tone.

Amêlie curiously observed Erik and her father as they conversed about something that clearly concerned her…but they did not ask her opinion at all.

"W-well, I suppose not," Monsieur Laurent responded. "We just…haven't seen the need for one yet…" he trailed off.

Erik looked at Amêlie. "May I ask what _you_ think, Mademoiselle? Do you prefer to be carried or would you like the freedom to move yourself around from room to room?"

Monsieur Laurent interrupted. "**I** am her father, Monsieur, and **I** will decide when she is ready for such things!" he spoke harshly.

"Gregoire! Please, I am sure that Monsieur Erik did not mean any harm by asking, did you, Monsieur?" Suzette looked thoughtfully at Erik.

"No, of course not!" Erik replied, shocked. "It seems that I have worn out my welcome here this evening." He stood and nodded to them. "Good night, Monsieur, Madame. Mademoiselle." He looked at Amêlie and saw that she was smiling at him with a look of pride upon her face.

"Good night, Monsieur Erik. I enjoyed our time together," Amêlie replied.

"As did I," he stated honestly. He put his fedora on his head and walked past the Laurents and out the front door.

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Back at the guest house, Erik again scanned the bookshelf for some form of entertainment. It was too early to go to bed yet, and he was in no mood for comedic Shakespeare, after being lambasted by Monsieur Laurent for a simple, harmless question regarding his daughter. _Apparently, I have hit a nerve_, Erik thought sullenly.

He noticed several Bibles on the lower shelf and he chose one. _Why would these people need so many Bibles? Only a priest would need such a collection! _ He snorted. He seated himself in the armchair and set the closed book on his lap. He ran his hand over the cover, contemplating where he should begin. He had not really read the Bible before…he had seen no use in it. But now…now things were different. He felt as though God were in fact _real_--real enough to appear in his nightmares…real enough to speak directly to him by name…real enough to forgive him for all of his crimes. Since this God seemed to know all about him, he thought that perhaps he could do some investigating of his own. He opened the Bible randomly, deciding that if God could speak to him in dreams, then surely He could speak to him through this book, which everyone claimed was written by Him, no matter what passage he read.

_Psalm 139. Well, I shall have to begin somewhere. _ Erik read silently:

"_If I say, 'Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,' even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you._

_For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb._

_I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well._

_My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."_

He stopped. He re-read the passage over and over several times, trying to fully grasp its meaning. Never before had he read anything like this…he knew the darkness so very well…it had been his way, his protection, and his undoing…yet in his dream, God's light had penetrated all of that darkness, just like this passage was speaking about. He had never read that he was "wonderfully made"--that was the last thing he would ever have thought of himself. This passage actually said that God had seen him before he was ever born, and that He had even planned out all of his days. Erik was having a difficult time accepting that last part…if God had planned out all of his days, then was God the one who chose for Erik's life to be so awful? Or had someone else's choices made it so? He simply did not know. All he knew was that he was beginning to get a headache. His entire week had been out of control…nothing had gone according to his own plan. But perhaps his plan had been the wrong one, all along. _Perhaps God really is in control, and it took my near destruction to get me to see it._ "What do you want from me, **now**?" Erik spoke loudly. "So, you created me and it says here that You have a plan for me! But why did you allow me to be created in this way? Why did You allow my mother to do this to me if You really are the One in control of **everything**?" He was angry, his voice increasing to a shout, and he dropped the Bible and dug his fingers into his knees, wincing in pain.

"_Can you not forgive her as I have forgiven you?"_

Erik nearly jumped in his chair as the Voice spoke in his mind. "**No!** That is not the issue here!" he roared. "The issue is that **You** allowed her to do what she did!"

"_As I allowed you to choose your own path."_

He shook his head. _Am I going crazy? Are you really speaking to **me**, God?_ But Erik already knew the answer. Yes, God had allowed Erik to choose his own path…and He had also allowed Erik's mother to choose hers. But He had been waiting the entire time for them to come to the point of no return…to where they would acknowledge their need for Him and surrender control to Him—the only One who truly knew the purpose for each of their lives. Erik had no idea if his mother was alive or dead…but he knew that **he** was very much _alive,_ and that he wanted to _do_ something with the life that he had left. He determined that nothing and no one would sway him from becoming the man whom he was meant to be.

**A/N:** Thank you to Opera Dove and MastersofNight for reviewing! Your comments are encouraging and helpful.

Thank you also to all who have been reading since the beginning, whether you've reviewed or not. I hope you are enjoying the story, and I promise to actually finish it!


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom or anything related to it. Bummer. But I do own the Laurents and Father Michel. Happy reading! Come on, you lurkers--give me some feedback! _:)

** Chapter Thirteen**

Erik nodded at Guillaume, the butler, as he opened the front door for him. "Good evening."

"Good evening, Monsieur. You are expected in the dining room," Guillaume motioned with his hand and bowed slightly before excusing himself.

Erik stood for a moment, a bit nervous about how the new houseguest might react to seeing him for the first time. His mask tended to frighten people…_although perhaps the Laurents have told this person about the reason for my mask. Yet another person who knows more than they ought to about me! _ He had become accustomed to the warmth that he felt in the Laurent house, and he did not want anyone to spoil it for him. He inhaled deeply through his nose and smoothed his dark wig with his palms. _Lavender and roses._ The scent was barely there, but he could smell it. He exhaled sharply. _Why am I thinking of her **now**?_ Erik silently lamented. _I have no time for this. I must be losing my mind! _He noticed that the double doors to the dining room were closed, so he walked toward them and tried to calm himself. He knocked briefly and awaited a response.

"Enter, please," came Monsieur Laurent's voice from beyond the doors. Erik could hear polite conversation and intermittent laughter coming from the dining room as well.

He slid back one of the pocket doors and saw Monsieur Laurent seated at the head of the table. The man rose quickly. "Ah, Monsieur Erik! Please, do come in and have a seat! I am glad that you decided to join us for dinner. I would like you to meet our houseguest for the week. This is…" He motioned to the other end of the table and Erik's eyes followed.

Suddenly everything became hazy. Erik could no longer hear Monsieur Laurent's voice, nor could he see the welcoming smiles of Suzette and Amêlie. All he saw was the vision in the light green dress with the auburn waves falling down around her shoulders…and those eyes…the eyes he knew he could never forget as long as he lived. The half-smile which had graced his countenance seconds before, had quickly faded. Christine Daae sat in shocked silence before him.

Erik froze. He stared at Christine, mouth agape, for what seemed an eternity. Finally, the fog in his mind began to clear and he blinked several times to make certain that he was not hallucinating. "Monsieur Erik? Erik? Are you quite all right?" Monsieur Laurent's voice finally brought Erik back to his senses.

"Hmm? Oh, I…I apologize, Monsieur. I…I just…" Erik stuttered.

"Have you forgotten your manners, Monsieur? When introduced to a lady, are you not supposed to acknowledge her in a proper manner?" The man stared at Erik, clearly annoyed.

"I…I am sorry. Mademoiselle?" Erik hesitantly approached Christine, who was gripping the sides of her chair as though she had seen a ghost. Her knuckles were turning white. "It is a pleasure to make your _acquaintance_, Mademoiselle," he said, reaching for her left hand and removing it from the chair. He brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles, lingering a bit longer than what was considered proper. He looked deeply into her eyes and a wave of longing swept over him. Christine stared at him in a combination of horror and elation, mouth open and lower lip quivering. Her face felt as if it were on fire. Finally, she found her voice. "You as well, Monsieur." She released her hand from his grip and dropped it to her side again. Erik noticed her tension, as it clearly matched his own. He backed away from her.

"Monsieur, Madame, I am afraid that I have not felt well today…I just stopped by to tell you in person that I will not be joining you for dinner this evening. I thank you for your invitation. I plan to retire immediately," Erik lied, as politely as he could muster.

Monsieur Laurent was clearly surprised. "Oh…well, Erik, I…I hope that you will get some rest and feel well in the morning. Thank you for coming in person to tell us. It was very…genteel of you."

Erik nodded at him, and then he turned to Suzette and Amêlie. "Madame, Mademoiselle," he winked at Amêlie. "Enjoy your evening." He turned his fiery gaze to Christine. "Mademoiselle," he spoke softly, "How long will you be staying?" His deep blue-green eyes seemed to penetrate into her soul.

"A…a week." Christine answered weakly.

Erik bowed slightly. "Good evening to you all, then." He turned quickly on his heel and left the dining room, heading directly for the front door. He closed it behind him and paused to breathe. His hands were shaking and he was beginning to sweat. _God, why did she have to be here? How do they know her? What is going on!_ His mind was reeling. _Why is she here, now that my life is finally beginning to become normal? Why, Lord, why did you bring her here?_ He cried inwardly. He felt frustration and anger building within his chest. He proceeded quickly across the fields to the guest house, trying not to curse the entire distance.

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"I do hope that the poor man is feeling alright," Suzette expressed to her husband. "He will need to be well enough to complete his work for the architectural firm."

"I am sure that he will be fine tomorrow. Probably hasn't been sleeping well. He looked quite exhausted," Monsieur Laurent responded.

"Pardon me," Christine broke in, "but what did you say the…the gentleman's name was?"

"Erik," Monsieur Laurent replied. "He came to stay with us recently after his home was burned in a fire. He is a friend of our parish priest. He is quite the gifted musician, and he just began a job as an architect as well…a man of many talents. Although, he can be rather…unusual at times. I hope you weren't too taken aback by his appearance."

"Father, I _like_ him!" Amêlie chimed in. She turned her head to Christine. "I think he is wonderful! He is unusual…in a good way," she smiled sweetly.

Christine blinked. "Erik…" she turned the name over and over in her mind. "Y-Yes, he does seem a bit unusual. But I am sure you are correct," she smiled at Amêlie, "…it is in a **good** way." She nodded and turned her attention back to the food on her plate. Christine pondered all of this new information in her mind as the dinner conversation turned to other topics. _Erik? His name is Erik? I didn't even know that he had a proper name. But of course, he must…he is a man, after all. And he is the friend of a priest? This is so strange…can this even be the same man that I knew? _she wondered to herself.

"Oh, my. I completely forgot to ask Monsieur Erik if he would be joining us for noon Mass tomorrow!" Monsieur Laurent sighed. "Well, I suppose I shall have to make a trip out to the guest house after all…I hope he is not asleep yet." He placed his napkin on the table and excused himself, heading out the front door.

_Noon Mass? Angel?_ Christine almost choked on her food. She simply could not picture him stepping foot inside a church. _However, it seems that I have known very little about him after all…perhaps I shall have time to…get to know him more this week_, she thought, as excitement rose within her. However, it was quickly followed by a mental warning. _I nearly killed him! How can I expect him to forgive me so soon? I broke his heart by leaving with Raoul! I said horrible, hurtful things to him! Although…he wasn't ever really honest about anything…and he committed dreadful crimes…but who am **I** to hold those things against him? **God** is his judge, not me! _

Christine came to the startling conclusion that she had already forgiven Erik for everything…the deception, the murders, and even the attempt on Raoul's life…and she did not understand _how_ she had forgiven him. She only knew that she had. To her reasoning, she was almost as much to blame as Erik for the events that had transpired. She realized that no matter what he had done, her Angel would always hold a place in her heart. _After all, I am no saint_, she thought. _God has forgiven me many things in my life…how can I withhold forgiveness from another? He is just a man, like any other…only…he is not just any man, to me. _Christine shook her head slightly in shock at herself._ What is **wrong** with me? I am engaged to **Raoul! I chose Raoul! **Didn't I?_

Christine's thoughts were interrupted when Madame Suzette began to ask her questions about the upcoming nuptials to le Vicomte. Unfortunately, Christine had no answers for the woman. Nothing had been finalized…and that included Christine's true feelings for her fiancé, she realized with a shudder.

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Erik was reclining on the settee in the front room when there was a loud knock at the door. He stood, praying silently that he would not find Christine there when he opened it. He exhaled a sigh of relief when he saw Monsieur Laurent standing before him. "Monsieur? Is something wrong?" Erik asked.

"No, no, I simply forgot something," he began, looking down toward the floor momentarily before meeting Erik's eyes again. "First, I want to apologize for my outburst of anger at you last night when you questioned me about my daughter. I should not have reacted in the manner that I did."

Erik nodded in acknowledgement. "I meant no offense."

Monsieur Laurent smiled. "I am aware of that, Monsieur. But the reason I came here is to say that…my family and I would be honored if you would attend noon Mass with us tomorrow, if you are feeling well. I am certain that Father Michel would be glad to hear the good news about your position at the architectural firm," he looked hopefully at Erik.

"Thank you," Erik replied politely, surprising even himself. "I believe I would like to see Father Michel again. But…" he paused, wondering about Christine. "Your houseguest… Mademoiselle…" Erik trailed off, pretending not to recall her name.

"Daae," Monsieur Laurent replied.

"Yes, Daae. Will she be attending as well?" Erik asked him.

"I assume so, Monsieur. I understand that she is a devoted Catholic. However, she will likely take a separate carriage with my wife and daughter. We will meet them there so that I can assist with carrying Amêlie into the church," he explained.

"Very well," Erik replied, still quite uncomfortable with the whole arrangement. He knew that he must speak with the old priest, and that was the only reason that he acquiesced to Monsieur Laurent's invitation. "I shall come to the house at…say, eleven?"

"Eleven will be fine, Monsieur Erik. See you then," the man smiled. He bade Erik goodnight and closed the door behind him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik rested uneasily in his bed after Monsieur Laurent had left. There were now even more questions that needed answers. _Why is Christine here? How do they know her? Am I in danger now? What if she tells that **boy** where I am and he sends the gendarmes after me again? No…surely she would never do such a thing._ Memories flooded his mind…he saw Christine coming closer to him…closer…further into the lake until she slipped the ring on her finger…a desperate kiss…she paused and looked into his soul with her brown eyes…another kiss, this time more passionate…the ring, placed in his hand…an unspoken goodbye…that boy and his Christine rowing away in his boat.

Erik suddenly came to his senses, realizing that his face was wet with tears. _I thought that she was gone from my life! And now You have brought her to this place! Why?_ His mind screamed at God. _I should have known that You would only bring me more pain!_ He was angry with God for allowing Christine to ruin everything. She was the one thing that he wanted in this life, and she was also the one thing that he could not have. "Why do You torture me this way? Is this now a penance for my sins?" he cried aloud.

At long last, Erik fell into a deep sleep. He had no terrifying visions on his bed, however, for the first time in many years. Apparently, even thoughts of Christine could not shake the inner peace that he had been given by his Maker.

**A/N:** Thank you to MusicDeLovely and Haley Macrae for reviewing again. I am so glad that you are enjoying the story!


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Okay, more than a few of you have read this story and haven't reviewed. Love it? Hate it? Please tell me what you think. I appreciate those of you who are taking a few short moments to send me a review--it means a lot to me!  
**

**Chapter Fourteen**

As Erik paced across the field, he was relieved to see that the first carriage had already left for the noon Mass. He was nearing the main door to the house when it swung open, and Monsieur Laurent stood before him, smiling. "Ready to go?" he asked Erik.

"After you," Erik motioned toward the waiting carriage.

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Very few words were exchanged between Monsieur Laurent and Erik during the trip to the church. Erik had been lost in thought, and the other man seemed to take note of it, leaving him alone for the most part. _How can I avoid being near her at Mass?_ He wondered. _Perhaps I should simply remain in the carriage until the service has ended._ Then he remembered Amêlie…she would likely be disappointed if he did not attend. Erik sighed in frustration and began to pray for a way out of the situation.

As the carriage arrived at the entrance to the church, Erik grew uneasy. "Monsieur, I believe I shall enter through a different door…I prefer not to be a distraction for those present." He gestured to his mask.

Monsieur Laurent smiled weakly. "I understand, Erik…but I hope that in the future you will feel differently…the people here are very loving and accepting."

Erik held his tongue. He wanted to tell the man that he was daft, and that he could not possibly understand what it was like to be a freak of nature…and that even the most well-meaning people viewed him as an _oddity_, at the very least. Instead, he simply cocked an eyebrow at Monsieur Laurent.

The men parted ways. Erik could see the first carriage waiting up the road several yards from him. As he began to turn in the opposite direction, he caught a glimpse of Madame Suzette and Christine stepping from the carriage to greet Monsieur Laurent. He turned swiftly, swallowing the lump in his throat, and skirted around the side of the church building, slipping in through one of the side doors he had discovered during his brief stay.

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Erik made it to the organ loft without being seen. He had slipped in and up the stairs after he had seen that no one was seated at the bench. From there, he could see the whole congregation, but they could not see him, if he crouched and sat low enough. The service began and Erik found his mind wandering to Christine. One or two times, a hymn that he somehow knew was sung a cappella, and he sang along with the rest of the parish.

Amêlie was seated in the front pew, nearest the organ loft. She cocked her head at one point, and her mother stopped singing, glancing at her. "Everything alright, ma cherie?" Suzette whispered. "Yes, Maman…everything is fine," she smiled. _He is here. I can hear him singing_, she thought, a rosy glow appearing upon her cheeks.

Unbeknownst to the Laurents, Christine also heard Erik's voice rising in the air, though she could not tell where it was coming from. But, oh, she knew that voice! She closed her eyes and let the sound wash over her. _It's like coming home_, she thought breathlessly. _Oh, God, I need him…please…help me. I don't know what to do!_ A tear escaped her eye and she quickly raised a gloved hand to wipe it away. The Laurents had not noticed her gesture…but the one perched above them bore witness to Christine's every movement.

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_Angel of Music, why do you cry?_ Erik thought, watching Christine from above. _God, she is so beautiful. It seems as if I haven't seen her for an eternity…and it has been but a week since we were last…since we…._ Erik sighed and hung his head. _She does not love you, you fool! She cries because of **you**…because she cannot seem to be **rid** of you! _Erik berated himself.

After what seemed like an age, Father Michel brought the service to a close and the congregants stood, milling about and conversing with one another until they had all left--except for the Laurents, Christine, and Erik. He could see Father Michel exchanging words with Monsieur Laurent, and he watched him smile warmly as he met Christine and shook her dainty gloved hand. Christine smiled back at him, and Erik noticed that she seemed to be studying the old man curiously, but said only a few pleasantries and then was gone. Monsieur Laurent carried Amêlie as he escorted his wife to the waiting carriage. He returned again, almost immediately, staying behind to speak with the priest.

Erik shifted his weight and ducked out the loft door, making his way down the stairs. As he got to the bottom, he opened the door to the first floor just a crack and peered out, straining to hear the conversation between the two men. Erik chuckled slightly as he formed an idea…and he watched closely as the scene unfolded.

The two men were standing at the doors to the church when they suddenly heard a hiss behind them. "Hellooooo." They jumped, startled at its close proximity. They spun around and saw no one. Father Michel looked at Father Laurent. "Did you hear that?" he asked, wide-eyed. Monsieur Laurent nodded.

"I **said**, HELLO!" the voice now boomed, and both men let out a cry of fear.

"Who is there?" Father Michel called out, his voice trembling. "Show yourself!"

Erik stepped out from the door, haughtily striding toward the men with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"**ERIK**!" Father Michel shouted. "You nearly gave me heart failure!" He threw his hand over his chest to emphasize his point.

Erik laughed low in the back of his throat. "Well, gentlemen, I **do** have to make an entrance, you know."

Monsieur Laurent and Father Michel glanced at each other and both broke into nervous laughter at the same moment. Erik stared at them. "I must say…that isn't the reaction that I **usually** get from people."

"Ah ha…ha…hmmm…yes, well, I suppose not," the old priest replied, attempting to regain his composure. "Monsieur Laurent says you have some good news to tell me."

"Yes, Father. But I should like to speak to you…" Erik glanced at Monsieur Laurent, "…alone."

"If you will excuse me, I shall wait for you in the carriage, Erik." Monsieur Laurent turned and strode out the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, my boy, tell me this good news of yours!" Father Michel beamed at Erik, settling into his armchair.

Erik could not help himself…he smiled at the old man. "I have secured employment as an architect, Father."

The priest clapped his hands and nearly shouted. "Oh, bless my soul! That is just marvelous, Erik! You must be thrilled!"

"I am," he replied, still smiling slightly.

"Well, then. I am glad to hear it. Is that all of the news you have for me today?" Father Michel questioned him innocently.

Erik hesitated, looking down at his hands, trying to find the right words to speak. His smile faded. "Father, I…I believe that something has happened to me."

The old priest wrinkled his brow. "Happened? Nothing awful, I hope."

"No, no. It…it was…a dream of sorts. I believe that…" he sighed, feeling rather foolish about what he was going to say. "I don't even know how to say this. You _mustn't_ laugh!" Erik spoke firmly.

"I would not laugh at you, my boy. You should know that by now."

"Yes. Thank you…as I said, I had a dream and it was as if there was a…a _war_…going on inside of me," Erik paused.

The priest leaned in. "Go on, Erik."

"There were terrifying things…and I…I called out for help…in my mind…and a light came and…and it _spoke_ to me." Erik looked down at his feet. "I know this must sound so ridiculous to you," he said gruffly.

Father Michel touched Erik's shoulder, and Erik met his gaze. "Not at all, my boy. Tell me everything."

And Erik did. He recounted his prayer and the thoughts that came to him seemingly out of nowhere, as well as the Bible passage that he had read. Then he finally came to his most important question.

"Father, if God planned me, and planned my days, then why did He let all of these things _happen_ to me in my life?" Erik looked almost distraught, as though he were truly and deeply searching for a way to reconcile this contradiction within himself.

Father Michel sighed. "Oh, Erik. God loves you…that is the first thing that you must know. But to answer that, I must pose a question to _you_, my boy. How is it that God allowed _you _to commit _your_ crimes and me to commit mine?"

Erik had not expected this question to be directed to him. "I…I do not know." He sat motionless, staring at the priest, awaiting some sort of answer.

"God allowed our crimes and mistakes because **we chose** to commit them. We chose to live our lives according to our **own **wills—our **own** plans, Erik. We did not consult Him before we made our choices, did we?" the priest asked him.

Erik turned this thought over again in his mind. "So, what you are saying is that…the events of my life have been due to a series of choices made by other people and by me?"

"Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. We each have a 'free will.' We can make our own decisions…but we must also bear the consequences. Bad things happen to everyone, Erik, but God is not the root cause. Man's own sin is the root cause."

Erik frowned. "What does _that_ mean?"

Father Michel gazed at him tenderly. "It means, dear boy, that the wicked people who have hurt you your whole life did so because they _chose_ that path, and God allowed them to choose it."

Erik was angry now. "And what about me? What choice did **I** have, Father! They did not ask for my permission to beat me and treat me worse than an animal!" he roared.

"Erik, listen to me. No one can truly say why such horrible acts are committed every day, except for the fact that sin has entered the world, and the enemy of our souls prowls about as a roaring lion seeking to devour us…and in many cases, the enemy succeeds."

Erik sat quietly now, trying to absorb what the priest was saying.

"In the New Testament, there is an account of a man who was blind from birth. Jesus was walking along the road with his disciples, and they saw this blind man. His disciples asked him, 'Lord, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?' And Jesus told them that neither the man nor his parents had sinned, but that it happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life."

"And what happened then?" Erik asked curiously.

"Jesus healed him."

Erik sat in stunned silence for a few moments. At last, he cleared his throat, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. "Father," he whispered, "do you think that I am like the blind man?"

Father Michel grasped Erik's shoulder firmly, tears brimming in his own eyes. "Yes, Erik, I do. I think that everything that happened is so that God could show His glory through you…as a changed man."

"But why so _much_ pain?" Erik rasped.

The priest shook his head. "I do not have the answer for that, my boy. But I do know that He suffered more greatly than you or I ever will. He took our burdens upon Himself, Erik, on that cross. Let Him bear your burdens even now. Release those things to him. Allow Him to help you forgive those who have hurt you. Please."

Father Michel and Erik sat motionless after this, each one praying silently without the other's knowledge. When Erik stood to leave, the priest noticed that his face was slightly reddened from weeping. "I am here for you whenever you need me, my boy. You have only to send for me, and I will come to you, day or night…we are family now."

Erik grasped the old man's hand tightly and exhaled a ragged breath. "Yes, Father. Thank you."

He made his way out of the study and into the waiting carriage outside the church, exhausted and relieved to be heading home.

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**A/N:** To poetzproblem: Thanks for reviewing again! Yes, it was an awkward reunion, wasn't it? They do have a lot to work out. I will do my best not to disappoint you.


	15. Chapter 15

_Disclaimer:__I shouldn't have to tell any of you this, but just for the heck of it--I own no rights to the Bible. chuckles It most certainly was not written by me, and I would never presume to take credit for its genius. That belongs to the sole Author. smiles Oh, and I have no rights to Phantom, either. But you already knew that!  
_

**Chapter Fifteen**

Upon arriving back at the estate, Erik collapsed on the settee in the guest house. His mind was still attempting to process all that Father Michel had told him about his past pain and God's possible plan for his life. _Am I now a changed man?_ He wondered. _How can I know this? How am I to see this change?_ He felt slightly confused, but hopeful. In the span of a week's time, Erik had been given another chance—a new chance to live life in a somewhat normal way…as long as no one discovered his true identity. Perhaps Christine had already put him at risk. _She wouldn't say anything, would she? Not after I made her leave with that **boy**! She should be kneeling at my feet in **gratitude** for what I did for her! I spared her an eternity of this. _ He slowly reached up and pulled off his mask.

Erik closed his eyes and let his fingers travel over his malformed flesh. _Why would someone do this to her child? Am I truly an unwanted mistake? _ He had never felt wanted in his whole life…not until Christine. Christine had been afraid of him, but Erik had also perceived that she was powerfully drawn to him. _Magician's tricks_, he thought. _Combined with the workings of a naïve imagination. She never really even knew who I was…I am certainly no angel._

"_You are Mine," _Erik heard again.

"What does that **mean**?" he cried, slightly frustrated.

Silence. Erik strained to listen, and he felt foolish for doing so. _This voice is in my head and comes and goes of its own will! _He sighed and sat up. His eyes felt so weary that all he wanted to do was sleep…but he knew that he had received answers before from the old worn Bible on the shelf, so he reluctantly picked it up again and opened it at random. His eyes fell upon the page and what he read made him shiver.

"_For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."_

_He wanted me._ Erik dropped the Bible to the floor. _She tried to end my life…they **all** tried to end my life…but He did not allow it. Why?_ He thought back to the words he had just read. _Because He has hope…and a future, and plans…for me! Even with this face…even with all that I have done._ Erik closed his eyes and lay back on the settee. _For me_, he thought, as he fell into a deep and peaceful slumber.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine sat in front of the dressing table, daydreaming as she brushed her long waves. Since she had come to the Laurent house, she had not felt the agonizing, gut wrenching grief that was causing her to vomit before. She was glad—her stomach muscles ached from all the dreadful wretching. She grimaced as she set the brush on the table and stood. _I deserve more pain than this for what I've done_, she thought. She looked down at her left hand. There was no ring there…Raoul had not purchased another one since they had left the Populaire on that awful night. He had not asked her about what happened to it, and she was relieved. She sat down on the bed and closed her eyes. "Angel," she whispered. "Can you ever forgive me?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik woke up from his nap and found that it was growing dark outside. He looked at the clock on the windowsill. _Nearly seven o'clock. I've missed dinner._ He was relieved, knowing that any social attempt involving he and Christine could result in disaster. He sat up and peered out the window. The sun was setting, painting the sky with streaks of fuchsia and orange. _Still enough light to go for a ride_, he thought. He left his fedora on the table and strode out the door, rolling up his shirtsleeves and humming to himself. He was looking forward to riding the beautiful black mare again, and hoped that no one would mind if he were to take her out without permission.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Christine, darling, you look positively ill," Suzette cast a concerned glance at her as she entered the sitting parlor.

"No, Madame, I am fine. It's just…" she paused. "It's just that I don't know what to do with myself now that I am here."

Suzette raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

Christine could see that Madame Suzette was slightly insulted. "I…I'm sorry, Madame…I didn't mean anything by it…I just…suppose I am missing Raoul," she finished quickly, hoping that Suzette would not hear the lie in her voice.

Suzette smiled, relaxing. "Well, that is understandable, ma cherie," she laughed softly. "A man as charming and handsome as Raoul de Chagny must be a delight to be around, yes?"

Christine felt awkward. She nodded, trying to smile and look convincing. _Raoul **is** wonderful_, she thought. _Only…there is something missing._ She frowned, disturbed by her own thoughts. Suzette took note of it.

"Darling, you look unhappy. Is there anything I can do?" Suzette said sincerely.

"Oh, no, Madame! I am not…unhappy…I am just—I was just wondering—would it be alright if I went for a short walk outside…by myself?" Christine stammered.

"Of course, ma cherie! But I would hate for you to get lost on the property. Please try to remain close to the house, will you?" She smiled at Christine.

"Y-yes, Madame. I will. Thank you." She stood up slowly, forcing herself to step gracefully from the parlor. When she was fully out of the other woman's view, she quickened her pace into a brisk walk, throwing open the door to the screened porch. She exhaled, trying to ease the tension from her neck and shoulders. _All these questions!_ She thought, slightly unnerved. _Why can't she just leave me be? No…I am being ridiculous. She wasn't trying to pry…these people have been nothing but kind to me. I should be grateful…so why aren't I?_

Christine made her way outside, glad to be out of the house. It was beginning to feel as though it were suffocating her. _I have to spend five more days here_, she thought. _How in the world am I going to bear it? _ She walked out away from the house, gazing up at the sky, still painted with sunset and half covered with stars. The breeze was cool and she felt a slight chill on her arms. Before she realized it, she had traveled a few hundred yards from the house, and it was growing quite dark. _How long have I been out here?_ She turned around, relieved to be able to see tiny, dim lights in the house windows. She took a few steps toward the house, and then she heard the sound. _Hoofbeats. A horse? At this time of night? _She crossed her arms in front of her, rubbing them with her hands and began to walk more briskly as the hoofbeats drew nearer. After several minutes, she could bear it no longer, and she turned around to look behind her.

Nothing. Complete darkness and silence. _I **know** I heard a horse_, she thought. She stood still, straining her eyes to see in the darkness. She took a half-step forward and jumped when the heard the unmistakable sound of a whinny. "Wh-who's there?" she stuttered. She waited…no answer. "Who is **there**?" she spoke, a mixture of fear and frustration.

A long silence…slowly she turned back toward the house, a chill creeping up her spine.

"_Christine…"_

**A/N**: Eeeheehee! Cliffie! Sorry...couldn't resist. Don't worry, I'll update tomorrow! -hugs-

To Mlle. Fox: Well, I'm flattered, I must say! To be the first person to interest you in a possible E/C fic is a great honor, indeed. curtsies Thanks for reviewing again, and don't worry...I won't rush anything! -wink-

To Stephanie: Thank you for reading and reviewing. I'm so glad that you -heart- the story! I hope that you enjoy the rest of it!


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Okay, so I lied. No, not really, I just realized how short the last chapter was and thought I'd give you all another chapter so you aren't too ticked off at me! PLEASE send me reviews!  
**

**  
Chapter Sixteen**

Christine gasped and spun around. "_Angel_?" She narrowed her eyes, still unable to see anything in the darkness. She stepped forward, her right arm outstretched before her, feeling for him in the night.

Suddenly, she felt a hand in hers and she was pulled up onto a dark horse. Startled and completely out of breath, she whispered, "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," came his voice in her ear, dark and slightly menacing.

"I…I am here b-because…because Raoul is gone on business, and…" she trailed off, feeling his warm body tense behind her.

"I see," he replied flatly. "Well, Mademoiselle Daae, perhaps I should escort you back to the house before you catch a chill out here." His voice was not at all friendly.

"I…I don't want to go back yet," she replied softly, blushing even as she spoke. She felt his breath on her hair, and she thought she might faint from the closeness of their contact. His hand rested on her waist, and her body felt feverish. _Why do I feel this way whenever he is with me? _she cried inwardly.

"Do **NOT** play games with me, _child_!" Erik bellowed in her ear, startling Christine nearly to tears. "Do not pretend," he then hissed, "that everything is fine between us. You made your choice, and you _left me_." He gripped her waist with his fingers, digging into her garments.

Christine was trembling with fear. "Angel, I…I…"

"I am not your _angel_, Christine. I am no one's angel. Please stop calling me that," he interrupted. His fingers loosened their grip.

"I am sorry…_Erik_," she said, turning slightly in the saddle to look at him. As she turned, she felt his breath on her cheek and she closed her eyes. She suddenly realized that she no longer felt ill or tired, but invigorated and alive. "Erik, I…I have wanted…to talk to you…to tell you everything." A tear rolled down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away…but not before Erik noticed it.

He could feel himself weakening in her presence. "Come," he said in a softer tone. "We will return Baptême du Feu to her stables." Christine looked down at the dark horse…she was as black as the night. "Baptism by fire?" she asked curiously.

"Yes," Erik replied as he turned the mare toward the stables. "She is beautiful…but she can certainly test one's resolve."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine stood by the stable doors as Erik led the mare back in for the night. She watched him closely as he spoke to the horse, though she could not hear what he was saying. His tenderness with the animal was evident to her, and she felt her stomach flutter when he turned and met her gaze.

"I will walk you back to the house…and you can do your talking along the way…" he tensed his jaw and looked away, "…if that suits you."

Christine nodded. She was a bit sad when he did not offer her his arm. She swallowed hard and began, "This…this is very awkward for me."

Erik stopped walking and turned to look at her. "_Really_?" he said sarcastically. "I can't imagine _why_."

She frowned, and her lower lip began to tremble. "Erik, please, I…I haven't been well since…since that night. I haven't been sleeping well, or eating, and I have cried until I've made myself sick." She looked at him with tears brimming in her eyes. "I…I want to ask you to forgive me."

Erik's eyes blazed. "_Forgive you?_" he hissed. "Forgive you for leaving me there to die, to be killed by that mob or by the gendarmes? Oh, _certainly_. Well, that is that, then. You are forgiven. Is that all?" He was babbling like an idiot, and he knew it. He was furious and hurt at the same time, and it came out as sheer insanity.

Christine's mouth gaped open. She had clearly said the wrong thing. "Erik, I'm so, so sorry for what I did…it…it was not my intention to expose you and leave you there to… die." She bowed her head and let out a sob.

Erik tried to contain his anger. "But Christine, that is exactly what you did, whether you intended to or not. You blindly followed the pathetic plan of a foolish boy! You chose _him_, after all I did for you--after all I did was…_love_…you." He choked on the words as they escaped his throat.

She raised her head to look at him, suddenly realizing something. "You are wrong, Erik," she whispered.

"What?" he snapped, glaring at her.

"You are wrong. I did notchoose him. You _forced_ me."

Now it was Erik's turn to be stunned, mouth agape. "How…what…have you lost your _mind_? Did I not see you leave with him in my boat? Were you not singing words of love to each other when you left me there ALONE?" He raised his voice to a loud crescendo.

"Yes, those things are true, but…"

"But WHAT?"

"But you are the one who made me leave."

Erik stepped closer to her and gripped her shoulders. "I sent you away because you wanted **him**! You only _pretended_ to choose me to save his **life**!" he growled.

"No! First…first you told me to choose, and then when I _had_ chosen…you sent me away, and I…" she shook her head. "I did not know what to feel. I came back to give you the ring, because I…I wanted you to know that you would always hold a place within my heart. But, Erik…I didn't know then how much of my heart you already…"

"Do not speak these **lies** to me, Christine," he interrupted her, his countenance darkening. "I do not wish to hear them." He held her at arms length, beginning to push her away from him. "My life…my life is beginning to get better now, and I…I do not **need this**!"

Christine grabbed onto his hands. "No, Erik! Please, _please_ listen to me! I am trying to be honest with you now…I…I felt as though you _pushed_ me away that night. I was terrified! You gave me no choice! You have murdered people, and you were going to kill Raoul! What was I supposed to do? Did you think that you would make me return your love by threatening the life of my childhood friend? How _could_ I?"

"Christine…" Erik looked as if he had been stabbed in the heart. "I…I didn't know what else to do! Nothing went the way I planned it! **Nothing!** If that _boy_ hadn't come to the lake, none of this would have happened!"

Christine spoke in a low tone. "It _did_ happen. And no one can change that. Your mistake was that your actions were frightening and wrong, though you say you loved me. But I also made a mistake. I foolishly thought…I thought that I could somehow…hold on to _both_ of you." She hung her head in shame. "But when you made me choose, I knew that I was going to lose, no matter what. If I stayed with you, Raoul would have lived but he would have been gone from my life. And if I had chosen Raoul, you would have killed him, and I would have hated you! I would have ended my _own _life rather than stay with **you**!" She met his eyes and watched as the arrows of her words hit their target.

Erik was visibly shaken. _She would have killed herself rather than live with me. Dear God, I truly am a monster!_ He shook his head to clear his mind. _No_, he thought, _no, I am no longer that monster. I am different now. _He sighed. "I am…sorry…that I caused you to hate me, Christine. It was not my intention to…"

"No, Erik," she interrupted. "I never said that I hated you…I said that _had you taken Raoul's life_, I would have hated you. But you set him…and both of us…free."

"I don't understand," Erik said, puzzled. "You…you don't hate me?"

Christine stepped closer to him. "No. I do not hate you. I…care very much for you."

Erik could smell her hair as she stepped closer. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent. "Christine," he whispered. "Christine, after you kissed me that night, I…I knew I had to let you go because…I suddenly couldn't bear the thought of your light being drowned…in my darkness."

"Oh, Erik," she said, placing her hand upon his unmarred cheek. "Erik, can you ever forgive me?"

He flinched slightly at first, but after the initial shock he placed his hand over hers and looked intently into her eyes. "Christine…I can only promise…that I will _try_."

Her eyes glistened with tears as she laid her head on his chest. "I'm so sorry…and I want you to know…that I forgive you," she wept.

"Oh…Christine," Erik fought the pain in his heart and tenderly embraced her.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Well, I am a bit disheartened that I haven't heard from more of you regarding the last two chapters. I hope that the first real conversation between Erik and Christine was not a disappointment to you. **

**To poetzproblem: Thank you SO much for reviewing again. I'm so very humbled that an amazing writer like you is following my little story and is actually enjoying it! **

**Chapter Seventeen**

Christine had lost all track of time. She lifted her head from Erik's chest and tried to read the emotion on his face. "Erik?"

"Hmmm?" Erik replied, seemingly distracted.

"I need to go back to the house now…they will be wondering what has happened to me."

"Oh." Erik released her from his embrace. "I will walk you back."

He offered her his arm, and Christine smiled.

They had walked a short distance when Erik suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

"What's the matter?" Christine searched his face.

Erik tensed. "This…understanding that we have come to…it…this really changes nothing, does it?" He turned his gaze to her and she could read the sadness and longing in his eyes, though he tried his best to disguise it.

Christine bowed her head. " I don't know. Perhaps our hearts can have peace if we can forgive each other—and I know that we will be better for it." She glanced up at him with tears in her eyes. "But still…I feel as though I'm…trapped."

He frowned slightly, not quite understanding what she meant. He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Trapped?"

"I still feel…as though I never got to truly make my own free choice."

Her statement took Erik by surprise, and he was not sure that he liked where the conversation was leading. "Christine, what are you trying to say?"

She sighed and shook her head. "I guess what I mean is…I know that I am engaged to Raoul…but I am still not certain of my true feelings. It has been a week since we parted, and I have not been able to take a single breath each day without thinking of _you_." She met his gaze and began to tremble.

"Christine…I do not know what to say," he whispered, stunned—until suspicion grew in his mind. "What is it that you want from me?" he questioned her.

"I want…to learn more about you--to know the man that you really are and not the _illusion_ of you. I want you to be able to forgive me, and I…I want to spend time with you until I know for certain what it is that I feel."

"And what if you do not return _my_ feelings, Christine?" Erik replied grimly. "Then I will be losing you to that boy all over again. What you ask of me is unfair and **cruel**! How can you honestly stand here and tell me that you do not know what you _feel_ for me?"

Christine stared at him, mulling the thought over in her mind. "I feel as though I never truly knew _you_, Erik. I only knew you as my Angel of Music. But…I understand if you are not willing to give me this chance," she said sadly, though she truly meant it. _I deserve this_, she thought, _for being such a selfish **child**_. She felt as though her heart had sunk into her stomach.

Erik's gaze burned into her. "I am not the same man that I was. You have five days left here, Mademoiselle Daae. We shall see what happens in those five days."

"Christine!" A voice called to her from the direction of the house.

"I am here!" Christine called back. She turned to Erik. "I have to go. Will I see you tomorrow?" she asked hopefully.

"We shall see. Good night, Christine," he said rather formally, as he grazed her knuckles with his lips. He disappeared into the night as though he belonged to it.

Suzette met Christine outside the house and they went in together. "I was growing worried about you, Christine!" She grinned, "You got lost, didn't you?"

"You could say that," Christine smiled weakly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik rose early the next morning, feeling well rested. He opened the envelope that he had received from Monsieur Giroux and pulled out several documents detailing a new architectural project that he was to create sketches for. He leafed through the pages carefully, but his mind was distracted. He remembered that he needed to contact Monsieur Renault to arrange his finances with his new employer. He wrote out a note:

_Monsieur Renault,_

_I trust that all of my holdings are in order as they should be. I wish to inform you that I have secured employment with Giroux & Associates, an architectural firm in Melun. _

_You are to contact them and arrange for my salary to be sent directly to you and deposited into my account. _

_My employer has been asking for information regarding my surname, and as you are already aware, I have none. I wish for you to contact an attorney immediately so that I may acquire a surname for myself, since it now becomes necessary. _

_I expect that you shall keep these matters confidential, Monsieur. You will be rewarded for your trouble. _

_I shall look for a response from you regarding these matters within two days._

_Erik _

He sealed up the note and reached for his cloak and hat. A trip to the main house was now in order.

There was a chill in the air, and Erik pulled his cloak about him more tightly. _You would think I'd be used to the cold_, he thought wryly. He increased his pace, making it to the front door of the main house rather quickly. He rapped at the door and Guillaume answered within seconds. "Ah, Monsieur Erik, good morning to you."

"And you. I have a letter which needs to be sent out right away," Erik said, glancing behind Guillaume to see if anyone was about the house at this time of the day.

"I shall see to it then." He took the letter from Erik. "Would you care to come in, Monsieur? The family is just sitting down to breakfast."

Erik bit the inside of his cheek. "I suppose so," he replied, wondering if he would regret it. "But I do not wish to intrude if I am not welcome," he added quickly, remembering that he had not actually been invited by the Laurents.

"Step inside the foyer and I will ask Monsieur Laurent, just to be certain," Guillaume replied, smiling politely at Erik.

Erik did not have to wait long before Monsieur Laurent appeared through the double pocket doors. "Erik! What a nice surprise! Please, come in and sit down. Have breakfast with us." Erik nodded and removed his fedora, stepping gingerly into the dining room. _It seems that this is the only room of this house I ever see_, he thought, amused. _These people in high society certainly do know how to feed themselves—and I do believe my own trousers are growing more snug about the waist!_

Suzette was seated to the right of Monsieur Laurent's chair with Amêlie next to her. She turned and smiled at Erik as he entered. "Madame," he said. Christine was seated directly across from Suzette. She wore a simple blue dress with lace on the collar and cuffs. Her hair was pulled back from her face, but the length of it still tumbled down her back. She glanced up at him and her porcelain skin suddenly flushed. There was an empty seat next to her.

Erik's palms began to sweat as he removed his cloak and draped it over his arm, rounding the head of the table toward Christine. "Mademoiselle," he spoke in a rather formal tone. "Good morning to you."

Christine blinked. "Good morning to you as well, Monsieur." She looked down shyly at the table. She felt electricity run through her body as Erik pulled out the chair next to her and seated himself in it, brushing against her sleeve. He placed his hat and cloak on the chair adjacent to him and cleared his throat. He nervously glanced around him before his eyes settled on young Amêlie. She was smiling at him, eyes sparkling. "Good morning, Monsieur Erik," she said sweetly.

"Good morning," he replied, relaxing a bit. "How is the young songbird today?" Erik asked her quietly, a slight smile upon his face.

Amêlie blushed. "I am just fine, thank you for asking. How are _you_?" She smiled and he immediately knew that she was asking about more than his physical health.

He looked into her eyes very seriously, recalling the conversation between them regarding spiritual matters. "I am _well_, Mademoiselle. Thank you," he said softly.

Christine curiously observed this conversation between the Opera Ghost and the young disabled girl. She had never seen her Angel interacting with people in the outside world before…at least, not in any normal sort of way. She saw the tenderness in his eyes when he spoke to Amêlie, and she suddenly felt the urge to touch him…to be nearer to him.

She slowly began to move her hand from her lap under the table. She trembled at her own actions—she couldn't believe what she was doing. Her hand drew nearer to Erik's, and he seemed to be completely unaware of it. Christine glanced at the others around the table who were focusing intently on their breakfasts, eyes downward. _Will they notice?_ She knew she was taking a huge risk, but something compelled her…she could not stop herself. Her breathing quickened and her heart felt as if it might burst.

Suddenly she felt Erik's eyes upon her and she froze. She lifted her eyes to his and he gave her a look that made her stomach drop. His gaze was filled with such longing and love that she nearly gasped. He averted his eyes and glanced down at her hand that was now motionless in midair between them. Christine was shaking. Erik met her eyes again and Christine felt his hand brush against hers, sending a surge of energy up her arm. He took his thumb and slowly rubbed it back and forth on the top of her hand, but he did not grasp it. She could feel her face growing hot, and she gazed at him wide-eyed, lips parted. Abruptly, he removed his hand and turned his attention to his food just as Madame Suzette spoke.

"Christine, you look like you are feeling better this morning, ma cherie."

Christine nearly jumped as Suzette addressed her.

"Oh! I…uh…I suppose that the cool air did me some good last night," she replied nervously. She just _knew_ she was blushing.

"Cool air? Ah, yes, a nice walk outdoors can work wonders, I always say," Monsieur Laurent chimed in, still chewing his breakfast.

"Yes. I suppose so," Christine replied, hoping in her heart that it was true.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After breakfast, Erik had politely excused himself and had returned back to the guest house to work on his designs. He spent several hours there at the kitchen table, and his back and shoulders were growing stiff. He stretched his arms skyward, trying to ease the ache, and his thoughts traveled to his conversation with Christine the night before. _So she wants time to know me_, he thought. _Yet she is still betrothed to that boy._ Erik felt a gnawing sensation in his chest. Guilt. "Why should I feel guilty?" he wondered aloud. But he could not shake the feeling. _I cannot do this. This…this is wrong. _ He was surprised at his own thoughts. _Has my conscience suddenly materialized?_

He stood and stepped into the living room, gazing out the window. _What can I do?_ He prayed silently. Erik fought a war within himself. Part of him wanted to throw caution to the wind and seduce her entirely…but he had attempted that with his Don Juan, and it had completely backfired. He had tried things his own way with Christine. Now there must be another way. _If there is no other way, then…then I shall have to learn to live without her. _His heart ached at the idea all over again. He hoped that God would see fit to make a way. _But why should I even **give** her another chance_? He hated himself for being so weak, but he had to admit the truth to himself. _ Because…I still love her. Oh **God**, I love her…and I want her in my life! But this whole situation...the secrecy of it…it is wrong. No…she must decide between us before this goes any further! _Satisfied that the matter was resolved in his own mind, he decided that it was time to stretch his legs.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine stepped into the carriage and waved goodbye to Suzette, who believed that she was going into town to purchase a few necessities. Christine had insisted upon going alone, claiming that she may want to stop and visit a friend. She promised to return in a few hours. Confusion settled into her mind as she watched the scenery rushing past the window. _I don't know what I'm supposed to feel_, she thought. _How can I possibly love two men at the same time?_ She knew she needed a listening ear, but she did not want to speak to Suzette about her dilemma, naturally. She needed someone she could trust…someone who would never gossip about personal matters. _A priest._


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Okay, I'm apologizing in advance for the short length of this chapter. (Don't worry, though...I update almost every day.-smiles-) But I'm SO honored that more of you reviewed the last couple of chapters! It really encourages me to keep going. I appreciate all the "lurkers" as well, but please drop me a line to let me know how you feel about my little story here! Thank you all so much!  
**

**Chapter Eighteen**

Erik walked nonchalantly to the stables in his cloak, humming to himself along the way. He did not feel like riding, but he knew that the dark mare was a comfort to him, and his life had just become more complicated. Baptême du Feu was standing with her head at her gate, and Erik thought that perhaps she knew he was coming. _Had she heard me humming? _He seemed to have some sort of connection with this misunderstood animal. He stroked her neck and spoke gently to her, opening the gate and going in to stand beside her. After he had spent several minutes with the mare, Erik stepped to the far wall and seated himself against it on the dirt and hay. He rested his head on one bent knee and began to speak his thoughts aloud. It was not a formal prayer, but it didn't need to be. He knew that somehow, wherever God was, he felt peace, and he knew God was there in the stable with him.

Erik began to pour his heart out—pain, rage, confusion, and gratitude all flowed from his heart and spilled from his lips in an unorganized fashion. He argued for a short while with his Maker about Christine…he knew that she was in no position to make a rational choice, but his heart was practically screaming at him to do whatever he could to make her choose him at last. _But I have already tried that, haven't I? I gave her all that I had to give at that moment, and she rejected me. No…I will not go through that again. She has much still to learn regarding matters of her own heart. I need her to be a **woman**, not a child._ He finally acquiesced to this wiser voice within him. He decided that he would have to maintain a "gentlemanly" demeanor with Christine (though he wondered audibly how he was to do such a thing) and not attempt to influence her in any way. Forgiveness was the first step, and Erik had yet to take it. If it was in God's plan for them to be together, then they would be…when they were _both_ ready, he decided.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Father Michel smiled at the woman with long, auburn waves as she entered the church. He recognized her at once. "Mademoiselle Daae, so lovely to see you! Is there something I can do for you?"

"I hope so, Father. I…I am very much in need of a listening ear," Christine's eyes were glued to her feet.

"Child, do you need to confess something?"

"Oh, no, Father…well, I…I don't think so, at least. I…I am just…confused right now."

Father Michel patted the seat of a nearby pew and motioned for her to sit. "Come, tell me what is troubling you."

Christine did not know where to begin. "Father, I…I think that I may be in love with two men." _Well, **that** was certainly a blunt way to come out with it. _"I need to know who it is that I am supposed to be with."

The old priest sighed. "Oh, child, matters of the heart are so very complex. And you are so very young. Why don't you tell me a bit about your situation?"

"Well…one of the men is very kind and gentle, and he was my childhood sweetheart. He makes me feel…safe, and I enjoy being with him."

"And the other?"

"Oh, Father, I don't even know where to _begin_ with him…" she shook her head and bit her lip. "He…he was my teacher…my mentor, and he helped me to find who I truly could be through music."

"And?" Father Michel motioned with his hand. "There must be more, child, for you to be so torn between these two men, yes?"

"Yes. My teacher…he is not as young as I am, and he knows many, many things. He is a genius! But he can also be…very frightening at times," she frowned.

Father Michel's eyes widened. "Has he _hurt_ you, Mademoiselle?" he asked, alarmed.

"Not…physically, Father. But he deceived me about many things. He had his reasons, I know, but…"

The old priest interrupted her. "Mademoiselle, surely you do not want to spend the rest of your life living with a liar!"

"No, of…of course not. But, he has asked for my forgiveness and I have given it. And he is also willing to try to forgive me, because I deceived him as well. I…I nearly got him _killed_…and I just couldn't live with myself until I had asked for his forgiveness."

"Do you somehow believe that this man has changed?"

"Yes, I do…something is different about him, Father. He has had a horrible life, but he is also capable of the deepest love…"

"You still have not told me how he makes you _feel_, Mademoiselle."

"Hmmm? Haven't I? I…I thought that I had…"

"No, you told me that the first gentleman made you feel safe and that you enjoyed being with him. But you did not tell me how being with this other man makes you feel."

"Oh. Well…I…I do not even really know _what_ I feel when I am with him. One moment he is frightening and intimidating and the next…the next, he is tender and gentle. I…I feel…very nervous when I am around him or when he looks at me…like I cannot stop shaking. And…and when he _touches_ me…" Christine blushed.

Father Michel smiled sheepishly. "Ah, I see. You feel 'something special' when he touches you?"

Christine sighed. _Like fire._ "Yes. Oh, Father! I feel so horribly guilty, because…because he is not the man to whom I am engaged! I am to marry my childhood sweetheart! But I do not know if I can go through with it." She hung her head, exasperated.

Father Michel laid his hand over Christine's. "Oh, Mademoiselle…it would be unfair to you and to everyone involved if you were to go through with this marriage before you know what your true feelings are."

Christine furrowed her brows. She nervously chewed her lip and tears began to fill her eyes. "But…but how can I do this to my fiancé? He will be so hurt, Father! I cannot break our engagement after I have promised myself to him…can I?"

"Child, you would hurt him more if you chose to marry him knowing that this other man makes you feel the way he does. You have already told me that you may be in love with them both. How can you marry one when you have unresolved feelings for the other? Marriage is a solemn vow before God to forsake all others, and if you cannot say with certainty that your fiancé is the only man you want, then you must not make that vow," the priest spoke firmly.

Christine's eyes locked on Father Michel's. She nodded. "I understand," she rasped, as her tears began to affect her voice.

"I know it will be difficult, Mademoiselle," he spoke softly, patting her hand, "but perhaps you should sever your engagement before you cause any further harm. May I say a short prayer with you? You will need all the strength that the Lord can give you, I'm sure." He smiled.

Christine nodded and joined the old priest in prayer before they said their goodbyes and she walked out to the carriage. _Now, I mustn't come back empty-handed_, she thought. _Madame Suzette will be suspicious. A new cloak, perhaps. The weather has become chilly lately, and my old one is growing thin._ She was thankful that she had four more days before Raoul came home. She had no idea what she was going to say to him when he did.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Father Michel walked into his study and sat down to a cup of tea. Resting his head on the back of his armchair, he recalled his conversation with Christine. _Poor girl_, he thought, _she is like a little lost sheep—being called by two shepherds. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik stood and brushed the hay and dirt off of his trousers. _Shouldn't have done that_, he thought. _Brand new trousers, and I've gone and sullied them. _He made his way outside after saying goodbye to the mare and walked around the perimeter of the stables. He had an idea. _Didn't I see some stacks of wood back here? Yes, there they are…not enough there to do the job, though._ Erik headed to the large clump of trees at the end of the field on foot to get everything he needed for his next project.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik arrived back at the guest house with an armload of wood in different lengths and sizes. He dropped everything outside the front door and noticed an envelope leaning against the screen. He opened it and saw that it was response from Monsieur Renault.

_Dear Monsieur Erik:_

_I am pleased to hear of your new employment. All of your affairs are currently in order. _

_I have asked Monsieur Devin, an attorney here in the city, to handle the situation with your surname. He will be contacting you shortly with all of the necessary papers. As soon as the documents are completed, I shall converse with your employer and everything will be arranged. _

_If there is any way that I may further assist you, please do not hesitate to ask._

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Phillippe Renault_

_Good_, Erik thought. _Now…choosing a surname. _ He grimaced. _ This is going to be more difficult than I had imagined._

**A/N:**To Phanatic4Phantom: Hey, you! Thanks for reviewing again! And thank you for always being an encouragement to me...from the very beginning. Without your prodding, this story would not have been written. -hugs-

To Mlle. Fox: I'm glad you like my "little bits" of fluff! LOL And yeah, no doubt Erik's long-buried conscience has sprung to life! Woo hoo! Ya just gotta love him, don't ya?

To MusicDeLovely: Yes, I try to put my chapters up as quickly as possible. Typing furiously trying to stay ahead of the game! After all, I am one who likes people to update regularly as well...more often than once a week...or God forbid, once a MONTH! UGH! It's infuriating, isn't it? LOL

To poetzproblem: Well, I wouldn't dish out the flattery if it wasn't well-deserved! Would you care for a second helping? LOL Okay...I LOVE your writing. Seriously. Finding a well-written story is like...like...well, okay, it's just really **hard**! LOL Yeah, I'm bummed about some of the mistakes I've found in my story after posting. _Mortified_, in fact! I hope I don't butcher anything too badly. And I'm so glad you're reading and enjoying my story. Thanks for the encouragement.

To Haley Macrae: Or is it "hayley" instead of "haley"? It's been spelled two different ways, so I'm not sure which to write! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the first encounter. More to come! -grins-


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: What? No reviews? Hmmm. Perhaps a longer chapter this time will make you all happy. C'mon gang! I'm trying to update regularly here for ya—could you let me know what you think of this chapter?**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom, and I didn't write any of the lyrics here. Those were written by Charles Hart. Thank you for reading these incredibly obvious statements. Now back to the story!_

**Chapter Nineteen**

Erik worked outdoors until it was nearing the hour for the evening meal. He had seen the carriage arriving back at the main house and wondered if perhaps Christine and Madame Suzette had gone out for the day. He had found some tools in the small shed by the guest house and had begun to saw and pound away at the wood until it began to take shape. He did not have all the supplies he needed, however, and he knew that he could not simply go into town and purchase them. _Perhaps Father Michel would be willing to help_, he thought.

Finally, he put down his hammer and wiped his brow. _Halfway finished._ _I had best clean myself up…it would not be proper for me to come to dinner dripping with perspiration! _He went into the house and drew himself a bath.

He had tried to keep his mind off of Christine while working outside…but now that he was no longer occupied, his thoughts again betrayed him. He sank into the warm water, immersing himself much as possible, trying to relax his sore muscles. _Can I truly forgive her for what she did?_ he wondered. _Oh, God, I know that it simply isn't right for me to hold such things against her…not after You have forgiven me. But it is still so painful._ "Help me to forgive her, Lord…I _want_ to forgive her," he spoke softly. "I know that what I did…what I have done…is so much worse than what she did to me. But I am…" he paused and questioned himself. _Am I afraid? Afraid to trust her again? _

Erik sighed as he toweled off and dressed for dinner. Donning his fedora and cloak, he made his way to the main house. He always felt slightly nervous when he approached the house, because he was still not accustomed to socializing. However, since Christine had arrived, he noticed that his palms were sweaty much of the time, and he had difficulty thinking clearly when she was nearby.

Guillaume led him to the sitting parlor. _Apparently, dinner is not yet ready_, Erik thought. "Monsieur and Madame Laurent will be down momentarily, Monsieur Erik," Guillaume stated, taking his hat and cloak. "While you wait, may I offer you a brandy?"

_It's about time_, he thought. "Yes, I believe I could use one," he spoke dryly. He gulped it down in two swigs. Setting the glass on the end table, he stood and paced back and forth until he heard a voice in the hallway.

"Oh…yes, of course…thank you." Christine looked flustered as Guillaume led her to the parlor door. "Apparently, we are a bit early for dinner," she laughed softly, smiling sheepishly at Erik.

"Apparently," he replied flatly, raising a dark eyebrow and turning his back to her, pretending to gaze out the window. Guillaume excused himself to the dining room, leaving Erik and Christine alone.

"How…how are you today, Erik?" Christine stumbled over her words, feeling quite awkward at that moment.

"As well as I can be, I suppose. Thank you for asking," he turned to face Christine, but his expression remained blank.

Christine looked down awkwardly at the rug. _He certainly doesn't need a mask to hide his emotions, does he? _ "I…I have been thinking about our…conversation the other evening." She looked shyly up at Erik. "H-have you?"

Erik smirked. "Of course, Christine. You must know that this situation is very difficult for me. But I have thought about what you had to say."

"And?" she questioned hopefully.

"And I believe that it is best that we remain at a distance for now."

Christine's heart sank. "W-what do you mean, Erik? This morning at breakfast, I thought..." she paused and fought back tears as her lower lip began to tremble.

"Christine, I just…I cannot do this. You are engaged to that _boy_, and yet you expect me to spend time with you, growing more attached as I do, with no promise of any future with you!" He clenched his fists in frustration. "Have you no heart at _all_?"

She stood there in shock and confusion. "Erik, I…I don't know…what to…"

"No, Christine. **No!** I told you that I am not the same man that you knew. This past week my life has…has changed me drastically. I will not beg at your feet like a _dog_ for your affections! **Never again!** I cannot do it, because you…you have promised yourself to someone else…and I do _not _want someone whose heart is divided. I have loved _you_, and _only_ you, for so long now…and if you cannot love only _me_, then I do not **want** you, Christine! I would rather live _alone_ for the rest of my life." He rubbed his temple with his right hand and lowered his voice slightly. "I am sorry, Christine…but I have thought and prayed about this…"

"_Prayed?_ You have _prayed_ about this?" She retorted, half sobbing. "You have called me heartless and adulterous, Erik. Perhaps you should have _prayed _that your words could have been kinder! Excuse me…I am afraid that I am no longer hungry." Christine turned swiftly to leave the room, but Erik caught her arm.

"Christine, wait," he began, turning her around to face him. Her eyes were ablaze with fury and pooling with tears. "Christine, I…I did not mean to speak in such…_anger_. I apologize. I am afraid that when it comes to you, I…"

"Is everything alright in here?" Monsieur Laurent appeared at the parlor doors with a quizzical look upon his face. "What is going on?"

"Nothing," Erik replied darkly as he released Christine's arm from his grasp.

"It certainly looked like _something_," Monsieur Laurent replied, moving closer to him.

"No, Monsieur, I am all right," Christine spoke flatly, still facing Erik. "He was just…I was just missing my fiancé, you see, and I began to cry, and Monsieur Erik was trying to comfort me. I realize it must look improper, but I assure you, everything is fine." She turned around to face him and smiled sweetly. "I apologize, Monsieur. My emotions seem to be a bit out of sorts this week," she sniffed.

Monsieur Laurent softened. "No, Mademoiselle, you have no reason to apologize. I understand. And Monsieur Erik, I am sorry for the misunderstanding." He held out his hand in an apology. Erik grasped it. "Perfectly alright," he mumbled, reining in his emotions.

"Well, now. Shall we go in to dinner?" Monsieur Laurent smiled, relaxing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik and Christine were seated next to each other at dinner again and there was an awkward silence between them…except for the occasional, "Would you please pass the salt?" and "Thank you." The tension was thick, and everyone at the table seemed to sense it. Erik left feeling rather grumpy and weary.

Christine retired to her bedroom in the house and sat on the bed, removing her shoes. Finally alone, she covered her face with her hands and wept. _He will never forgive me_, she thought. _Oh, God, help me! I feel like part of me has died!_ She sobbed until she could no longer sit upright and she finally fell asleep, fully clothed, in a heap upon the bed.

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Father Michel received a letter by messenger from Erik the next morning, asking him if he would consider purchasing the items listed and delivering them to the guest house on the Laurent estate. "Erik, what are you up to?" he chuckled.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Father Michel arrived at the Laurent estate at about half past noon and directed the carriage driver to go straight to the guest house. Erik greeted the old priest with a firm handshake and a pat on the back, thanking him for gathering all of the supplies so quickly and for being willing to deliver them. He insisted upon reimbursing the old man for the items, and tried to give him a little extra for his trouble, but Father Michel stubbornly refused.

"Oh, will you not just take some for yourself, Father? Or use it to purchase something for the church, perhaps? You have done so much for me." Erik insisted.

"Erik, if you want to support the church, then do so when you attend. I personally have no need of your money. All of my needs are met," Father Michel smiled.

"Very well, then," Erik grumbled. "Will you at least come in for a visit?"

The old priest looked stunned. "You mean, you actually _want _me to come in and talk? Why, _Erik_! I thought you preferred being alone, not having to listen to my incessant prattle and…_off-key_ singing," he laughed.

"Who said that I did not prefer being alone?" Erik winked. "But, as long as you have made the trip out here, it is the _least_ I can do for an **old man** such as yourself."

Just then, a servant of the Laurent house pulled up to them in a carriage. "Monsieur, Father, Madame Laurent would like to invite you both to have tea and coffee this afternoon at one o'clock. Shall I tell her to expect you?"

The priest and Erik looked at each other, wide-eyed. "How…how did she know that I was here?" Father Michel asked incredulously.

"Servants talk, Father. And they usually do not miss anything that happens around the estate," the servant chuckled heartily.

"Ah, yes, very well then," the priest winked at him. "Erik, shall we?" he glanced at Erik, who looked rather ill at ease. "Erik?"

"I leave the decision to you, Father," Erik mumbled.

"Well, then, we accept. Please tell Madame Laurent to expect us shortly," Father Michel cheerily told the servant.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Madame Laurent and Christine sat in the parlor, trying to make polite conversation, when Guillaume announced their guests. "Father Michel and Monsieur Erik, Madame," he gestured to the men as they entered.

"Thank you Guillaume. Hello, Father, lovely to see you again!" Suzette rose from the settee and held out her hand to him, smiling warmly. Christine stood and smiled at the priest as well, avoiding Erik's eyes completely.

"Thank you so much for your kind invitation, Madame," Father Michel replied. "I assume that Monsieur Laurent is in town on business?"

"Yes, of course. And Amêlie is upstairs doing her studies with her tutor." She turned her gaze to Erik. "Monsieur Erik, nice to see you as well," Suzette smiled at him and motioned for them to be seated in the two armchairs across from the settee.

Father Michel studied Christine. "Mademoiselle Daae, you look well. Have you been enjoying your stay?"

"Yes, Father, thank you for asking," she replied, hoping that he wouldn't notice her lack of enthusiasm.

"Splendid, splendid." There was an uneasy silence. Father Michel glanced at Erik, who was looking rather uncomfortable in his armchair, his jaw tense and his eyes cast downward. "So…have you and Monsieur Erik had a chance to get acquainted during your stay?"

Christine nearly choked. "I…I…we…yes, we have shared…meals together."

"Ah, well, then, I assume that you two have had a chance to talk about many things, yes?" Father Michel glanced between Erik and Christine expectantly.

"No…I…we haven't really…" Christine stammered.

Erik spoke curtly. "No, Father, we have only shared meals together, but very little polite conversation." _If you only **knew** how little, _he thought.

"Tea or coffee, gentlemen?" Suzette smiled at the two men. "Tea, please," Father Michel replied. Erik remained silent and nodded instead. Suzette poured them each a cup of tea. "Allow me to assist you in getting to know each other! I simply _must _tell you both that Christine is a **wonderful** singer. Come, now, darling, there is no need to be ashamed." She patted Christine's arm.

Christine looked as if she were about to be sick. "No…no, Madame, I don't think that…"

"Oh, come now, Christine!" Suzette laughed. "Erik, this young lady was the prima donna at the Populaire for a short time, weren't you, ma cherie?" she said sweetly.

"Oh?" Father Michel asked, his eyes wide.

"Yes, Father," Suzette answered. "I heard her sing once and she was lovely!"

Erik sat motionless, his eyes riveted on his teacup, which still sat untouched on the table before him. Father Michel cleared his throat.

"So…you…you must be…very talented, Mademoiselle. I was sorry to hear of the…the fire that occurred at the Populaire recently," the old priest stammered to Christine, trying to think of something to say as his mind began to furiously put the pieces of the puzzle together at last.

"Thank you, Father. It has been a very difficult time…for all of us," Christine replied nervously.

"Difficult indeed," Suzette replied. "But I'm certain that it will be rebuilt in no time, don't you think? Especially with the help of Christine's fiancé." She beamed.

"Her fiancé?" Father Michel asked, gulping his tea. He could see Erik out of the corner of his eye. His hands were gripping the armrests of the chair, his fingers pressed firmly into the upholstery.

"Yes, she is to be married to our friend, the Viscomte de Chagny, who is the new patron of the Populaire! He is a wonderful young man." She paused, oblivious to the tension growing between all other parties in the room. "Christine, darling, might you consider gracing us with a song?" Suzette smiled.

Father Michel's eyes darted to Christine, who looked as though she were about to faint.

Erik finally looked up as well, studying Christine's face as she struggled to stay conscious.

"Christine?" Suzette repeated. Christine met her gaze. "Yes, Madame?"

"Christine, I asked if you might sing a song for all of us. Come now, you can do it! Your voice is marvelous! Do it as a favor to me, please?" Suzette patted Christine's arm again, and it was beginning to annoy her.

Christine sat in stunned silence, trying to breathe. She frantically looked at Erik who quickly averted his gaze to the floor. She then turned her eyes to Father Michel, who was smiling sheepishly.

Suzette was beginning to grow impatient. She frowned. "Christine, is something wrong? Perhaps…perhaps Monsieur Erik might provide some accompaniment for you, if you are uncomfortable singing a cappella. Would you, Monsieur?"

Erik turned an icy stare to Madame Laurent. "If it will _pacify_ you for the moment, then yes, perhaps."

Suzette was taken aback, and she closed her mouth, staring at Erik, wide-eyed. Father Michel had no idea what to do with himself. _This is not at all what I had expected when I accepted this invitation._

Erik stood. "_Shall_ we?" he said frigidly, as he motioned to the hallway with his arm.

Christine stood, feeling slightly dizzy, as she made her way after Erik to the library, followed by Father Michel and Madame Suzette. Erik seated himself at the piano bench, and Christine stood near him, as the others seated themselves opposite them.

"What will you sing?" Suzette asked, still on edge from Erik's coldness, but feeling rather excited at the prospect of being entertained. "Perhaps that lovely number from the opera I saw…what was it…_Hannibal_?"

Christine froze. "You don't mean the aria…the aria f-from the…the third act?"

"Yes, well, I believe so. Such a sweet and poignant song...something about "thinking of me" and such. Won't you do that one for us?" Suzette folded her hands in her lap and exhaled, closing her eyes as if to prepare herself for the listening experience.

Christine looked at Erik. "Are…are you familiar with that particular opera, Monsieur?" _As if he isn't._ His fingers were poised over the piano keys, but he did not look up at her. His shoulders were tense and his back straight. He nodded in reply. She sighed. "Whenever you are ready," she said softly.

Erik began to play. Christine closed her eyes and nearly wept at the sound. She took a deep breath and prayed that she would not have an emotional collapse during the song. She began:

_Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye_

_Remember me once in a while; please promise me you'll try_

_When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free_

_If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me._

_We never said our love was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea_

_But if you can still remember, stop and think of me_

_Think of all the things we've shared and seen_

_Don't think about the way things might have been_

_Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned_

_Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind_

_Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do_

_There will never be a day when I won't think of you…_

Christine faltered slightly at the last note, attempting to hold back her tears. She gripped the sides of her dress with tight fists and bowed her head. Erik noticed that she had stopped singing, so he resolved the chord and removed his fingers from the piano keys.

Suzette opened her eyes and applauded. Father Michel sat staring at Erik and Christine, knowing that this was not the first time that they had made music together. He could see it in their faces and read it in their bodies. He looked to Erik's face and saw that his mouth was set in a thin line and his brow furrowed—he looked as if he were in extreme pain.

Christine's head was still bowed, eyes closed, a stray tear trailing down her cheek.

Father Michel stood and stepped toward Christine, laying a hand on her shoulder. He spoke gently. "Mademoiselle, your voice is exquisite. You must have had a wonderful teacher." He glanced at Erik, who stared up at him, his mouth agape. The old priest smiled at him. "I believe I should be going now. Erik, would you mind seeing me out?"


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Okay, I'm apologizing ahead of time for the shortness of this chapter. But you guys aren't TOO mad at me, are ya? I mean, I'm updating often, so you know you'll only have to wait another day for the next chapter! I'm trying to find good places to break my chapters, so I'll tend to have a short one, then a long one. Oh, well, enough about that. On with the story! Thanks for reading, and drop me a line! **

** Chapter Twenty**

Erik and Father Michel walked out of the Laurent house in silence. _How did he know that I was her teacher? I don't remember telling him that, _Erik thought to himself. The two men were greeted at once by a messenger bearing a letter for Erik. He took the letter, scowling all the while. Erik was brooding, and the old priest knew it. "Erik, we never did get to have much of a visit…would you mind terribly if I took you up on your offer to stay for a while?" He smiled at him, attempting to lighten his mood.

Erik frowned. "I am not sure that I would be very good company at this time, Father."

"Nonsense!" He paused for several seconds, thinking. "Erik…would you consider us to be…friends?" Father Michel shot an uneasy glance at Erik. "I…I mean, I would hope that we would be able to speak honestly about some things, my boy."

Erik cast a sideways glance at the old priest. He half-smiled and said, "No, Father, I would not consider us to be friends." He watched as Father Michel's countenance fell. He chuckled to himself and continued, "We are _family_ now, remember?" He stopped walking and looked directly at the old priest.

Father Michel smiled. "Yes, my dear boy. You are correct." He tenderly laid a hand on Erik's shoulder. "Now…let's go into the house and we can talk for a bit before I leave, shall we?"

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Erik put a kettle on for tea (as neither one of them had consumed theirs earlier) and the two men sat at the kitchen table in silence for a few moments—Erik being lost in thought and Father Michel simply attempting to think of a proper way to phrase his question.

The priest finally spoke. "So…am I correct in assuming that Mademoiselle Daae is the woman whom you spoke of…the woman from the Populaire?" He had a concerned look on his face.

Erik groaned. "Father, _please_, can we discuss something else?"

"My boy, I can see how she has affected you. I am concerned…I think you really should talk about this."

"I do not know why she is here! I…I knew that the Laurents were to have a house guest, but how was I to know…" he sighed in frustration, shaking his head. "My life would be so much simpler right now if she hadn't come here."

Father Michel smiled at him. "Erik, life is _never_ simple. Remember how we spoke about God being in control of your life? There must be some reason why He has brought her here. Perhaps you should…_speak_ to her," he suggested cautiously.

"I already have," Erik answered coldly. "And that did no good, except…"

"Except what?"

"Except for the fact that she told me she has forgiven me for the wrong I did to her."

Father Michel was surprised. "She actually _told_ you that she forgave you? And yet you sit here acting as though this was the worst thing that could have happened to you?"

"Father, the problem is that I still feel…" he paused, searching for the right words. "I do not know how I can forgive _her_."

There was a short silence. "It may take time, my boy…and prayer. You must make a _conscious decision_ to forgive her. Unless…you do not truly _wish_ to forgive her."

"Of course I **wish** to forgive her! Why wouldn't I?" Erik was indignant.

"Perhaps because you are afraid." Erik raised an eyebrow at him. "Now, now, Erik, hear me out before you object. I believe you are afraid that if you stop being angry with her for what she did, that your anger will be replaced by…a deep _love_."

Erik looked at the old priest with sadness in his eyes. "I have not _stopped _loving her, Father. But she does not love me. She left me for her fiancé. And perhaps it is better that way," he spoke with a disheartened expression.

"She _does_ love you."

"**What?** How could you _possibly_ know that?"

_Because she has told me herself_, he thought. Father Michel tried to look innocent. "I saw it this afternoon. Both of you can barely stand to be in the same room with one another without your hearts breaking in two."

Erik stared at the priest. "Her heart breaks because I told her that I will not be party to her unfaithfulness. She told me…she told me that she wanted to spend _time_ with me…to learn how she truly felt for me. Today, I refused her."

"And why did you do this, my boy?"

Erik narrowed his eyes. "If she truly loved me, she would **be** with **me**! She would have **chosen** **me**! She would not have come seeking to use me to soothe her loneliness while her _fiancé_ is out of town!"

Father Michel nodded. "I believe I understand. Here is the problem, Erik: neither of you has been completely honest with the other. Perhaps she did not choose you because...because of something you yourself _did_." He tried not to reveal too much to Erik in order to protect Christine's privacy. "And...you are too guarded."

"I have no **choice** but to guard myself against her! When she is in the same room with me, I…I cannot think! I can only feel! I feel love and anger toward her at the same time! Father, I want to forgive her…but I do not know how to accomplish this! **Help** me, **please**," he held out his palms, fingers spread, in an imploring gesture.

Father Michel could see that Erik was in great pain. His own eyes beginning to moisten, he said softly, "Let us pray together, my boy. The Lord will give you an answer, and He will help you to forgive." Father Michel laid his hands on Erik's shoulders, and Erik bowed his head, closing his eyes to attempt to hold back his tears. He was unsuccessful, and his breathing became ragged as Father Michel prayed aloud. A sob finally escaped him, and Erik reached his left hand up to his shoulder, covering the old priest's hand. They prayed together for several minutes until the dam broke, and Erik was sobbing freely now, at last allowing the pain and unforgiveness to be washed away. "In Christ's name we pray, Amen," Father Michel finished, and Erik raised his head and looked at the priest with watery eyes. "Thank you," he choked out.

"Everything will be alright, my boy. Everything will be alright."

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Erik walked Father Michel to the door to say goodbye. They had talked, drank some tea, and talked some more. "Erik, you are sure that you won't come to confession? After all, it's what good Catholics do," he smiled.

"Father, I told you before, I will not confess to any _man_...not even **you**," he chuckled. "God knows my sins…I will go directly to Him. After all, He apparently knows my name," he laughed. Father Michel laughed as well, having been brought up to speed on Erik's encounters with the voice of the Holy Spirit. "And as for being a good Catholic…well, I am afraid that I am not used to such manmade rules, Father…but I shall attempt to walk with God in the best way I know how." He looked thoughtfully at the priest.

"Well, then you best read the Word, my boy," Father Michel chuckled. "And pray. And of course, I am here whenever you need me. I hope I shall see you again soon."

"You will, Father. And thank you again," Erik shook the old man's hand warmly.

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_I need to get out of here_, Christine thought mournfully, as she brushed out her long hair, smoothing it down as best she could. She wrapped her hair into a chignon and secured it. She had changed into a long skirt and a billowy white blouse with a low, rounded neckline. It felt so good to get out of her corset. She was glad that Helene had come along with her to help her tend to her needs. She already felt uncomfortable in the house…having some strange maid in her room would have made things that much worse. She had been hoping to get to the stables since she had arrived at the Laurent estate, but had never seemed to make it there to ride. Helene had refused to even go near a horse all week, and it frustrated Christine. _Now is as good a time as any, and I may not get this chance again_, she thought, wrapping her blue shawl around her shoulders and heading downstairs alone. Without even asking for permission, she was walking out the back of the house toward the stables, attempting to clear her mind of thoughts of the disastrous afternoon tea.

**A/N**: To poetzproblem: Wow, another review from you! Gosh, you're spoiling me! LOL Don't worry…in a while, these two will both recognize the changes in each other. "These things do happen"…just not overnight! I appreciate your encouragement, as always!

To ForeverPhantoms: Yay! A new reader/reviewer! I'm so glad you like the story. Your concerns are noted…and you don't need to worry. We're on the same wavelength! -wink-

To Hayley Macrae: I hate keeping you in suspense, but hey, at least I update quickly, right? Hee hee. Thanks for reviewing again!


	21. Chapter 21

_Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own the major POTO characters. But I own the new plot lines I've written, as well as the supporting characters. But then, you already knew that! _

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Erik had gone back to work on his project, piecing together the parts that Father Michel had brought with him from town. He noticed the sky beginning to grow darker, even though it was only four o'clock. _Looks like rain_, he thought, as he gathered up most of his tools and brought them into the house, along with the nearly completed wheelchair for Amêlie. _Now…it just needs to be sanded down a bit and smoothed out. I hope that she will like it._

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Christine was a long way from the main house when she heard the first loud rumble of thunder. _Oh, no_, she thought. _We'll be caught in the middle of it! _She dug her heels into the dappled mare, who was taking her time trotting along. The mare increased her speed marginally, and Christine wished that she had chosen a different horse for her ride. Suddenly, raindrops began to pelt the ground, and she and the mare were getting wetter by the second. She turned the horse around in a circle, searching for the nearest shelter. Behind her, about a half mile, she spotted the white guest house. _I cannot go there_, she thought. _I cannot bear to face him again today. _She knew that there was no way she would make it back to the main house before she got herself and the horse thoroughly muddy and soaked, so she decided that she had little choice in the matter. Prodding the horse, she headed for the small house as quickly as the mare was willing to go, which was not enough to keep her from getting completely drenched.

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Erik sat in the armchair by the window, watching the rain falling in sheets outside. He held the delivered letter in his hands and was preparing to open it, when there was a crack of thunder and a loud rapping sound. _What in the world?_ He set the letter down and got up quickly to open the door. Christine stood there, her hair a disheveled and dripping mess, face wet from rain, clothing drenched and sagging, holding the tether to a dappled mare.

"Chris-_tine_?" Erik choked out, shocked to see her standing there in such a manner.

"Erik! I…was out riding, and I got caught in the rain. Could…could you help me? I can't make it back to the main house in this weather. I…" she looked away as she saw the stunned look on his face harden into a stonelike appearance. _I should not have come here. He is still angry with me._

Erik was irritated at first, but then he softened. _It must have taken all of her courage to come here and face me after what happened earlier_, he thought. "Come in," he said tersely. "Tie your horse to the post outside the door." He motioned with his arm and Christine did as she was instructed. Erik closed the door behind her as she stood inside his house, dripping on the entryway carpet.

"Take off your shoes," he said, not looking directly into her eyes.

She pushed her wet hair away from her face and bent down to remove her shoes, placing them next to the door. "I…I'll get you a towel. Wait there." Erik strode down the hall and returned with a large, fluffy white bath towel and handed it to her at arm's length.

"Thank you," she said, quite embarrassed at having to appear before him looking rather like a wet rag. "I need to…may I use your lavatory?"

"Of course. Down the hall to your right."

Christine returned several moments later, wearing Erik's long, black, velvety bathrobe, her hair loose and resting about her shoulders. He tried not to stare as she came down the hall toward him. "I…I'm sorry, but…my clothes are so wet, that I…I…"

"I understand. It isn't a problem." He groaned inwardly, wishing that he had sent her away. _She tempts me even now, and she has no idea. "_After the rain stops, perhaps I can ride to the house and have a maid fetch some dry clothes for you."

"Yes, thank you…I would appreciate it very much." She looked down at her bare feet. "M-may I sit down?"

Erik motioned with his arm to the settee and she sat on one end nearest the window, looking outside, her arms folded tightly in front of her. She was extremely nervous, and he could see it. He tried to be hospitable. "Would you care for some tea?" he asked grimly, hoping that she would refuse.

"Tea? Oh, that would be lovely…but, please don't go to any trouble on my account."

"It's no trouble," he lied, walking to the stove and preparing the kettle for the second time that day. "It should be just a few moments." He paced in the kitchen, trying to avoid being in the same general area with Christine. She did not turn around to look at him, but remained silent, studying the scenery out the window.

_What do I do now?_ he wondered to himself. _Should I stay here? Shall I go in and sit with her and attempt to make some sort of ridiculous conversation?_

"_Tell her," _came the all too familiar Voice.

_**No!** No, I can't tell her now. I don't want her to get the wrong idea and think that I am giving in to her wishes._ He tensed his jaw. _I just can't!_

Erik waited for the Voice to return in his mind, but it did not come again. He sighed. _I cannot stay in this kitchen forever. _He slowly made his way to the front room and seated himself again in the armchair by the window. Christine was directly across from him, but she did not turn her eyes from the window to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, Erik," she said.

"For what?" he asked her curiously.

"For putting you in such an uncomfortable position right now. I did not mean for this to happen. Believe me, I would not have come here if I felt I had any other choice. You have made your feelings quite clear," she said coldly, still refusing to look at him.

"Christine," he spoke softly, "look at me, please."

She shook her head. "I can't. Oh, Erik, I can't! It…it hurts me too much. Your…your eyes—they look right into my soul, and I…" she was crying now.

"Christine," he said again, moving from the chair to kneel in front of her, his resolve crumbling. He touched her chin with his hand and turned her face toward his. "Please, look at me."

She reluctantly lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. "I am sorry for the way I treated you earlier. I…have been trying to deal with this situation in the only way I know how, but I haven't handled it very well, I'm afraid," he smiled slightly at her. "I want you to know something," he spoke gently.

She stared at him, her eyes full of tears, her lower lip trembling. _Oh, God, his eyes…I can barely look at them! _"Christine," he spoke in a whisper, "I _forgive_ you."

Her eyes widened in shock, and then the tears began to flow again. She suddenly threw her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. Surprised and fighting his carnal desires, he held her until her sobbing ceased and her breathing began to return to normal. The teakettle was boiling, and he removed himself from her grasp, standing up slowly. "I'll get you some tea now."

Erik returned from the kitchen with a teacup and saucer. Christine took the tea from him, meeting his gaze with a troubled expression. It seemed to him that something was weighing heavily upon her mind. _Dare I ask her what it is?_ he thought. _Perhaps I would be better off not knowing._

Christine sipped her tea gingerly and set it down on the small table near her. "Erik, I spoke with Father Michel yesterday," she began, watching his face for a reaction.

"Yesterday?" he questioned her as he sat down, knowing that the priest had not visited the estate the day before.

"Yes. I…I went to town and I stopped off at the church to see him. I needed a listening ear, and he was very helpful to me," she said calmly, wondering if Erik would be shocked.

He was. "You went to the church? _Alone_?" he asked, raising his voice. "Why would you go into town unaccompanied, Christine? What did you seek to accomplish by _doing_ this?" He was slightly angry that she would go and see the only man he trusted, without his knowledge. _So…the old man was keeping this from me. No wonder he knew so much more than what I had told him!_

"Erik, he is a priest, and I knew that he would keep my confidence. I needed some impartial advice, and he gave it," she said matter-of-factly.

"Oh? And regarding_ what_, may I ask, did you receive advice?"

"I sought advice concerning matters of my own heart. And now I know what I must do." She stopped speaking and waited.

Erik was growing frustrated. "If you are going to tell me, then simply _tell_ me, Christine. I do not wish to play this foolish game with you!"

She averted her eyes from his. Reaching for her teacup again, she spoke softly, "I must break my engagement to Raoul."

Erik was stunned speechless for a moment. _This cannot be happening. This isn't real._ "What…what do you _mean_?"

Christine took a sip from her cup and set it back down, looking at him again. "I cannot make a decision while I am engaged to him…and I cannot marry someone when I am not certain of my feelings for another. I need…time…to think things through."

Erik nodded and smoothed his wig. "That sounds…wise." He tried to contain himself, but his heart felt as though it might burst. _Oh, God! I do not want to raise my expectations for no reason…but might I have a chance after all? No…I am being foolish! How could she ever choose **me** over that boy? I **cannot **give in to these feelings._

Christine studied Erik's face and could see that he was fighting an internal war. "Erik." She reached out to touch his hand, and he let her. "I understand that you feel we must keep our distance for now. And you are right…until I have broken my engagement, we must remain as we are now."

"Breaking your engagement does not guarantee that you will choose me in the end, though, does it, Christine?" he stated simply. "If you decide that he is the one you truly love, then I will once again be left _alone_." Christine winced. "I simply cannot allow our relationship to be…_anything_ different…unless I know for certain that you love me as I love you."

"As you…_love_ me?" Christine asked, slightly surprised. _He still truly **loves** me, after all of this?_

Erik glanced quickly at her and looked away, his jaw tensing. He nodded. "Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

"Yes, Erik. I do." She exhaled a long sigh. "Now…may we…talk about other things? I…I would like to know how exactly it was that you befriended a _priest_," she smiled at him sheepishly.

He laughed. _Oh, God, that laugh is heavenly_, she thought.

Erik recounted a few of his experiences for Christine, but still could not bring himself to tell her of what he had discovered regarding his deformity. To him, it felt as though they were back in the opera house and they were sharing many of their thoughts just as they had before…_before all of this_. The rain ceased and he was able to retrieve dry clothing for her from the main house. She changed in the lavatory and gathered up her wet clothing in her arms. "Thank you again," she said softly, standing by the door.

He opened the door for her and untied the horse from the post. "You are welcome, Christine." He reached for her hand and kissed it tenderly. He looked into her eyes and wanted so desperately to taste her lips once more, but he restrained himself. She reached up and caressed his unmarred cheek. "Goodbye, Erik," she smiled.

**A/N:** I wrestled with this chapter a lot. Well, even if you hate it (and I hope ya don't!), this is the way I could see things happening. So _there_! –giggles-

To Leanne: **Aha!** A lurker who has finally revealed herself! I'm glad that you enjoy the story. I am trying to keep Erik in character, but I also believe that he has to change in many ways, for the good of himself as well as Christine. I think that Erik, upon encountering God, would definitely change, with much of the bitterness of the past beginning to fade, being replaced by hope. Still, there are times when he lapses back into his "old self." I think this is realistic. Not even **God** can change our entire personalities overnight! LOL

To Jania: Thanks for reading and reviewing! I'm glad that you are enjoying it!


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Erik again held the delivered letter in his hands. He noted that it was from the attorney, Monsieur Devin. _The documents, at last! _He tore open the envelope and read the pages carefully. Finding a pen, he filled in all of the necessary information and signed his name…the name by which he would soon be called. He had wanted to choose a name that was suitable for him…one that did not have an aristocratic air, but one with a meaning that was carefully chosen—a strong name. He penned the line at the bottom of the last page with a flair: _Erik Durand_. Satisfied, he tucked the contents into a new envelope and sealed it, addressing the front. He would have it sent out shortly when he arrived at the main house for dinner.

Erik quickly changed out of his work clothing and put on some clean trousers, a lawn shirt and waistcoat, complete with a cravat. He felt like a new man. A man who could finally call himself by a complete name…soon, at least…after everything was made legal. _A new job, a new name…and a new heart._ He was filled with gratitude and he whispered a short but sincere prayer as he donned his outdoor clothing, closing the door behind him.

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The atmosphere at the dinner table was entirely different this evening. There was laughter emanating from each person, including Erik and Christine, as they listened to Monsieur Laurent's humorous anecdotes about the places he had been and the people he had met in his many travels.

Amêlie watched Erik curiously as he stole glances at Christine. She could see that his attitude toward their beautiful houseguest had changed. She felt a twinge of jealousy at first, but shrugged it off, knowing that what she felt for him was simply admiration, not feelings of a romantic nature. She hoped that Erik would find someone and be happy. _He is such a special man_, she thought. _Whomever he marries one day will be a blessed woman indeed. _She caught his eye and smiled at him warmly. He smiled back, winking at her. "Perhaps after supper, the young songbird and the former prima donna would grace us with some music?" he asked, grinning. Amêlie had not seen Erik behave in such a joyful manner before. She laughed and glanced to Christine, who was watching Erik with a strange look in her eyes.

Erik turned his gaze to Christine, who was seated next to him, and spoke a bit more softly. "Mademoiselle, I enjoyed hearing you sing yesterday afternoon…you were…breathtaking." He cleared his throat and looked away, knowing that all eyes were upon him. He felt desire for Christine and anxiety in the same moment.

"Yes, she was marvelous, wasn't she?" Madame Suzette interjected, smiling. "Christine, I would love for you and my daughter sing a duet this evening! And…if you wouldn't mind, Monsieur Erik," she said sheepishly, watching him for his reaction, "might you consider accompanying them?"

"Of course," he nodded.

They finished their supper and everyone adjourned to the library. Erik seated himself at the piano, smiling at Christine and Amêlie. "What will you be singing this evening, ladies?"

Christine turned to Amêlie, who was seated in her usual spot. "Are you familiar with the Marriage of Figaro?" she whispered. Amêlie nodded. "Do you know _Sull'aria_ from Act Three?" Christine asked her hopefully.

"I am familiar with it, Mademoiselle Daae…it is one of my favorites! Shall you sing the higher melody?"

"If you like," Christine said, smiling at her. They both nodded at Erik and he began to play.

The angelic voices of the two young women filled the room, and Erik closed his eyes, listening to the happy, lilting sound of the song. When it was over, the Laurents applauded and Christine curtsied, also turning and applauding for Amêlie and Erik. He nodded at her in acknowledgement, his eyes revealing to her his powerful emotions at that moment. _**He loves me**. I can see it in his eyes. After all I have done, he loves me. He has given me so much…without him, I would never have known the pleasure of singing songs such as this one._ She was beginning to realize that Erik was more a part of her than she had previously thought. _What **am** I without him?_ she wondered, amazed that she had been too self-absorbed to contemplate the thought before.

"Well, it is growing late and Amêlie has her studies to tend to in the morning," Madame Laurent remarked wearily. "Perhaps we shall bid you both good night. Christine, will you be retiring for the evening or would you like to remain here to read for a short while?"

Christine feigned interest at the large shelves of books. "Perhaps a good book would help me to relax a bit. I think I shall stay here."

"Very well. Monsieur Erik, thank you for joining us again this evening. Guillaume will see you out."

"Yes, Madame," he smiled politely at her. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Monsieur Laurent gathered Amêlie into his arms and bid his guests goodnight. Amêlie smiled at Erik and Christine. "Thank you for allowing me to sing with you Mademoiselle Daae, Monsieur Erik."

"You have a lovely voice, young lady," Christine responded with a sweet smile.

"She does at that," Erik chimed in with a wink. "Goodnight, young songbird."

And then they were alone. _Where on earth is Guillaume?_ Erik wondered. He looked up at Christine, who had not moved from the spot where she had sung. She was only an arm's length away from him, gazing at him as if she were truly seeing him for the first time. Her eyes were full of tenderness, and it almost pained him to look at them.

"Erik," she began, stepping closer to him, "I…I want to thank you…for everything that you have done for me." She bowed her head. "I don't believe that I have _ever_ thanked you for being my teacher…and my friend."

Erik was taken aback. "Christine…it…it was my pleasure." _Why am I still sitting here? I should be leaving…I cannot stay here alone with her like this! _

She took another step forward and laid her hands upon his shoulders. "I have been so selfish, Erik. You gave me more than I can ever repay…and then I…I just…"

"Christine, don't," he silenced her. "We have been through this. We have forgiven each other for those things in the past. We should move forward now." He smiled and rested his hands on hers, rubbing her soft skin gently.

"And what lies ahead, Erik…for _us_?" She gazed longingly into his eyes and he drew in a deep breath, praying for self-restraint.

"That depends on you, I'm afraid." He looked away, removing his hands from hers. "I…I cannot…. Christine, this is very difficult for me, you _must _understand."

"I do," she replied, lifting her hands from his shoulders and stepping away from him slightly. "I just…I can't help it. When I'm around you, I feel like I need to…_touch_ you…to be _closer_ to you." The longing in her eyes was evident, and he nearly succumbed to it.

"_Christine_," he groaned. "Why are you _doing_ this to me?" He fiercely battled his desire to draw her into his arms and kiss her with reckless abandon.

Suddenly, Guillaume appeared at the door. "Monsieur Erik? I will escort you out now."

Erik stood. "Thank you." _Any later, and this could have been a disaster._ He turned his gaze to Christine. "Mademoiselle Daae, it was a pleasure. Goodnight to you."

"Goodnight, Monsieur," she replied formally, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.

Erik left the room and Christine dropped into the armchair, head in her hands, weeping softly to herself. _How can I go on like this?_

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The next day passed in a blur. Christine had received a message early in the morning that Raoul would be returning the following afternoon. He would arrive by carriage before the dinner hour. Part of her was excited to be able to see him again, but she realized that what she mainly felt was fear…and loss. She was afraid to tell her fiancé what she knew she must, and she was also sickened at heart to know that she would be leaving Erik shortly. _What happens now?_ she thought. _I don't even know what I should do after I speak to Raoul! Where am I to go? I cannot stay at the de Chagny estate! What a fool I have been…I have planned nothing for my future at all._ She sighed and prayed fervently for God's direction and for the right words to say as she fell into bed that night, dreading the light of the coming day.

Erik had finished the wheelchair for Amêlie that day and had made sure there were no rough patches to splinter the girl's small hands. He was anticipating the next morning when he would take it to the main house to surprise her. He only hoped that her parents would not be angry with him. He had made it out of a desire to see the lovely young girl grow and become more independent, and he hoped that she would appreciate the gesture. He had also spent several hours sketching some more drafts for Monsieur Giroux at the architectural firm. He planned to send the drafts by messenger the following morning.

He lay in bed that night for a long time, praying and thinking…about Christine. He knew that tomorrow would be her last day at the Laurent estate, and in a way, he was relieved. He had been fighting his own carnal desires since the moment he laid eyes on her in her green dress at the dining room table nearly a week earlier. _Even after all that has happened between us, I still love her. I love her beyond **reason**! _ He cursed and then felt slightly guilty about it_. She seems to bring out both the best and the worst in me, Lord! Is this the way love is **supposed** to be?_ He sighed and rolled over onto his side, watching shadows dance across the walls until he fell asleep.

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**A/N:** Raoul will be returning soon, y'all! Dun, dun, DUUUNNN! LOL! Can you feel the tension in the air? Well, **_can_** you?

To Jania--Thanks. It's nice to know that you look forward to this little story here!

To Mlle. Fox—Are you reading my mind or something? LOL! Don't worry…you're getting ahead of me here! "Patience, Iago." Don't you give up on me now! Things will look strange for a while (just a word of warning for future chapters) but never fear. I've got it _all planned out_. –rubs hands together and cackles maniacally-

To Leanne—Thank you for reviewing again! I'm flattered that my Erik is your fave so far! Wow! I'm also glad you want to "huggle" Erik! That's how I feel…uh, then again, I want to huggle **every **version of Erik that I read…even Leroux-based ones. Am I sick or what? LOL! Oh, and thanks for the cookies. BTW, my favorite kind is chocolate chip, for future reference! –giggles-

To ForeverPhantoms—Thank you for sharing such a neat story with me! That is so awesome that God made His promises so real in your life. He is so good, isn't He? Congrats on all those kiddos!


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Well, I apologize that I forgot to properly punctuate _The Marriage of Figaro _in the last chapter. Oh, and I already said before that I don't own any rights to POTO or the characters, or to any of the music here. I hope you enjoy this chapter! **

** Chapter Twenty-Three**

Erik rang the bell and anxiously waited for Guillaume to answer the door. As soon as he did, Erik nearly pounced upon him. "Is the family at home this morning? I have something I wish to discuss with them all."

Guillaume looked slightly shocked, but then he nodded, allowing Erik to step inside. "One moment, Monsieur."

Monsieur Laurent came down the stairs a bit flustered. "Monsieur Erik, it is not yet breakfast time. Can this not wait until then?"

"I'm…I'm afraid not, Monsieur," Erik replied, a bit embarrassed. "Are your wife and daughter up at this hour as well?"

"They are, but they have not yet dressed for the day. How can I help you?" He eyed Erik suspiciously.

Erik sighed. "I have made something…for your daughter. I hope that you will take no offense, for I mean it as a gift. However, if you refuse it, then I shall understand." He stepped to the front door and opened it, wheeling in the chair he had made. It had large bicycle wheels attached to the sides, and the chair itself was solid wood, sanded beautifully. "I…I haven't painted it yet…I thought perhaps I would let Amêlie choose the color," he smiled sheepishly, awaiting a reaction from Monsieur Laurent.

"Why..Erik!" Monsieur Laurent was dumbfounded. "I…I don't know what to say! It's beautiful…but…why did you do this?"

"I wanted to do it because you have all welcomed me so warmly and have made me feel as though I were part of your family. I realize that you could easily afford to purchase such a chair, but I wanted to make it for her myself. Your daughter is very precious and I thought that perhaps a wheelchair might make her feel…" he paused, searching for the right words, and chuckled. "I thought it might make her as independent in body as she is in spirit."

Monsieur Laurent was visibly moved. His voice was gentle when he responded. "Erik, you are a very surprising man, I must say. Thank you…you must have worked very hard on this. Amêlie will love it simply because you made it for her." He extended his hand and Erik grasped it. "Perhaps I shall tell the ladies to dress right away and come down."

Erik waited at the bottom of the stairs for several minutes. At last, he heard female voices drawing nearer. He looked up and saw Madame Suzette rounding the corner toward the stairs, followed by Monsieur Laurent, who was carrying Amêlie.

"Monsieur Erik…what—what are you doing here at this hour?" Suzette asked, surprised.

"I apologize for coming so early, Madame…but I have something…for Mademoiselle Amêlie." He looked up at the young girl and smiled warmly. She returned the gesture, brushing her hair back from her face. She had not yet braided it, and several of the straight, dark strands were standing on end from leaning on her father's shoulder.

"Monsieur Erik, you have something for _me_?" she asked him, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Yes." He stepped to the side, revealing the chair, which he had concealed behind him. Amêlie gasped. "Oh, Monsieur! It is so beautiful!" Her eyes became watery and she reached her arms out toward Erik.

Slightly stunned, he glanced at Monsieur Laurent as if asking his permission, and the man nodded at him, taking a step closer to Erik. Erik reached out his arms and lifted Amêlie into them. He held her against his chest and stepped toward the chair. Before he could set her down in it, she hugged his neck so tightly that he struggled to breathe. "Oh, Monsieur! Thank you…thank you so much! You are so wonderful!" She beamed at him as he placed her gently in the seat of the chair and lowered the footrests for her.

Amêlie grasped the bicycle wheels and pushed lightly. The chair moved forward, and she laughed. She rolled the wheels forward again, trying to maneuver the chair toward the hallway. She fumbled a bit before the chair turned slightly, and she grinned at Erik. Suddenly, she got a mischievous look on her face and pushed hard on the wheels, sending the chair speeding down the hallway. Madame Suzette gasped in surprise, and then began to laugh as she saw her daughter's absolute joy and freedom of movement. She stepped toward Erik and laid a hand on his arm. He didn't flinch. "Monsieur Erik, how can we ever thank you for such a kind gift?" she smiled.

"This gift is my thanks to you all, Madame. You have given me more than I had ever thought possible." He smiled at her and turned again to watch Amêlie, feeling more than a bit of pride at the joy he had brought to another person's life.

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Christine was awakened by the doorbell but had lain in her bed for several more minutes, thinking perhaps that it could be Raoul. _Is he early? Surely he wouldn't show up unannounced like this! _She silently prayed that it was a messenger or someone else…she was not yet mentally prepared to face her fiancé. Finally, she summoned Helene, who assisted her in dressing. Piling her hair neatly on top of her head, she stepped out into the upstairs hallway, listening. She could hear several voices downstairs, and her heart leapt. _One of them is Erik's._

"Mademoiselle, I shall gladly paint it for you if you will tell me the color that you prefer," Christine heard Erik say.

"Oh, no, I want it just the way it is! It doesn't need any paint. Besides, I'm sure I would just bump into things and scratch the paint off anyhow," Amêlie laughed.

And then Erik laughed. _Oh, dear God_, Christine breathed. _I could listen to his voice forever._ Her eyes widened in shock. _What am I **thinking**?_ But she knew in her heart that it was true. _Do I feel that way about Raoul?_ she asked herself. She tried to recall how she felt whenever she heard Raoul's voice. She couldn't remember if it evoked a feeling in her at all…other than…_familiarity? Fond memories? Friendship? I do love him deeply, _she thought. _But...I am so **confused**! _

She tried to clear her mind of the offending thoughts and turned to descend the stairs. Erik immediately sensed her presence and looked up, his smile fading. Christine's heart sank. _I make him unhappy just by being here. What was I thinking, asking him to give me another chance? I must be the most selfish person alive._

Madame Suzette smiled at her as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Christine, I'm sorry, did we wake you?"

"No…it…it was the doorbell, Madame. But it's alright. What's all this?" she smiled curiously, noticing Amêlie in the wheelchair.

"Monsieur Erik has made a wheelchair for Amêlie," Suzette replied, smiling. "Isn't he the most _thoughtful_ man?"

Christine met Erik's gaze. His expression was unreadable to her. "Yes," she replied. "He is _incredibly_ thoughtful…and it is beautiful work." She smiled at Erik, her heart nearly bursting. _Who **is** this man that stands before me now? _she wondered in amazement._ He has **always** been my Angel…but I have never seen the beauty and selflessness in his heart, until now. I **love** him. Oh, **God**! I love him so much at this moment! _She felt breathless just looking at him._  
_

A strange expression appeared in Erik's eyes and he cleared his throat. "Thank you, Mademoiselle. It is kind of you to say." When he looked into Christine's eyes, what he saw nearly made him tremble. _She has **never** looked at me that way before._ He quickly averted his eyes and spoke to Monsieur Laurent. "I suppose I should be going now. I am sorry for disturbing you all so early…"

"Stay, Erik. I will ask the cook to put breakfast on early today. Perhaps we could all adjourn to the parlor until everything is ready," Monsieur Laurent replied.

Erik nodded in reply. Christine felt a bit disappointed. What she truly wanted made her feel guilty and giddy at the same time. _I want to be alone with him_, she thought, thrilled at the realization that at last, she knew what was in her own heart. _I want to tell him that I love him. I want to tell him that I…**choose** him._ But it was not to be. They would have no time alone together that day…and before supper, Raoul would arrive to take her away…away from the man she truly wanted.

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The dark carriage with the gold de Chagny crest on the door pulled up to the front of the Laurent house. Guillaume had seen it approaching and he stepped out to greet it, opening the door for the young nobleman. "Monsieur le Viscomte, welcome. It is good to see you again," he smiled.

"Thank you, and you as well," Raoul smiled. "Is my fiancée ready to leave?"

"Yes, Viscomte. The family is expecting you."

Raoul entered the foyer and smiled as Monsieur Laurent approached him. "Ah, the dashing young Viscomte! How was your trip?" he smiled at Raoul.

"Oh, it was rather boring. Business usually is," Raoul replied, frowning slightly. "Is Christine here?"

"Of course. She is upstairs collecting her things. Shall I get her for you?"

"Yes. I am anxious to see her," he spoke breathlessly.

"I am sure that you are," Monsieur Laurent winked.

Raoul had seated himself on the settee in the parlor when Christine walked in wearing her traveling clothes. He beamed at her and stood, stepping forward to take her in his arms. "Christine, my darling…I have missed you," he kissed her on the cheek.

She returned his embrace. "Raoul…it is…good to see you again. How was your trip?"

Raoul rolled his eyes. "It was somewhat dull and I would rather not discuss it right now. I want to talk about you." He rubbed her arms affectionately. "So…what have you been up to this week without me? Have you been getting to know Monsieur Gregoire and Madame Suzette?"

Christine smiled sheepishly. "Yes, Raoul. They are lovely people. And they have been very kind to me."

"I knew that you would enjoy your visit here," he chuckled. "And you were worried! You always worry for no reason at all, Little Lotte."

"That just isn't true," she replied, a bit offended by his remark. "It is difficult to come to a place where everyone is a stranger to you." _All except for one_, she thought, smiling to herself.

"Well, I suppose that you are right," he said softly, gathering her into his arms again. He kissed her forehead. "Are you ready to go home now?"

She could sense that he wanted to be even more affectionate with her, and it made her feel very uneasy. _Here I am, and I have been such a weak-willed girl, torn between two men for so long. But I must face this. I have no one to blame but myself_, she realized. "Yes, Raoul. I believe that I am ready to go."

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As the de Chagny carriage pulled away from the main house, Erik watched it. He wondered if he would ever see Christine again. His heart threatened to break within him, but he steadied himself and turned back to his sketches. Monsieur Giroux had received the first of his sketches earlier in the day and had immediately sent word back to Erik, saying how impressed he was. Erik forced himself to think that everything was going well…even though he did not have Christine at that moment. _I may never have her with me again_, he thought. _But did I ever truly have her heart in the first place?_ he wondered. He prayed for strength to move on, if need be…though he secretly hoped that there would not be a need.

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Christine was noticeably quiet on the way back to the de Chagny estate. She and Raoul sat alone in the carriage, with Helene insisting instead to ride in front with the driver. Raoul told her bits and pieces about his business trip, and she nodded politely, responding appropriately in the correct places, and he did not seem to notice that anything was amiss. She was relieved, for once, that his self-absorption had temporarily blinded him to her inner struggle.

She believed that she had received an answer to prayer when she stumbled upon an idea earlier in the day. She recalled that Madame Giry had an acquaintance, a seamstress, who had a small business in downtown Paris. Christine hoped that she was in need of an assistant at this time. There was really only one other thing that she knew how to do other than singing and dancing, and that was sewing. She had become rather good at it, watching the costume designer make adjustments and asking a myriad of questions over the years. The designer had finally taken Christine under her wing (without Madame Giry's apparent knowledge) and had shown her how to make several pieces. No one else was aware of it, but several of the costumes for one of the operas were made with Christine's assistance. She would make sure to seek employment as soon as this…this whole mess...was resolved.

Christine listened to Raoul prattle on and on, telling what he considered to be funny stories about the Laurents that he remembered from his younger years. She marveled at how she had not realized her true feelings until now. She loved Raoul as a friend…but she wanted to be the wife of someone who truly treasured her and valued her opinions, talents and thoughts--not one who merely treated her as if she were an expensive, highly breakable bauble to be kept safely on a display shelf. Christine Daae was beginning to become her own woman.

**A/N:** To Haley Macrae: Thanks for the review! I'm glad that you feel I'm keeping them in character. It's been a little tough, since I am trying to show some dynamic change in them both, yet keep them somewhat the same. Whew!


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Arriving back at the de Chagny estate, Raoul helped Christine from the carriage. The driver assisted with Helene and Christine's luggage and tipped his hat to the Viscomte before leaving them at the door. Christine couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief to be in more familiar surroundings again…even if it didn't really feel like home to her, and she had felt a bit like an intruder at first. Raoul's family had never welcomed her and would most likely be ecstatic upon hearing news of their broken engagement. _Broken engagement. Yes, I do need to address the issue. But how…and when?_ Christine chewed her lip but then inwardly scolded herself when she realized what she was doing. _I am acting like a child!_

Raoul walked her upstairs and she sat down on her bed, slipping her shoes off and wiggling her toes. She was still barely speaking to him, and he finally seemed to notice.

"Christine, you are being terribly quiet. Is something wrong?"

She drew in a deep breath. _It might as well be now._ "Raoul…there is no easy way to say what I have to say."

He knelt before her. "Lotte? What are you talking about? What is wrong?" He frowned and she could see that there was an alarmed expression in his eyes.

"I…I don't know how this has happened. I don't even know where to begin…" she spoke, her eyes darting everywhere except to Raoul.

He grasped her elbows. "Christine! Tell me what is going on!" He was becoming quite upset at her strange demeanor.

"Raoul, you're hurting me!" she cried, and he released her elbows at once. "I'm…I'm so sorry…I don't know what came over me, darling. Forgive me." He looked away.

"It's _alright_, Raoul. What I am trying to say is…do you remember the night of Il Muto?"

"Do I _remember_? How on earth could I forget such a dreadful evening? A man was **murdered**, for God's sake!"

"Yes…I know…perhaps I should have phrased it differently. I meant to ask if you recalled our conversation on the roof of the Populaire that evening."

"Yes…" he replied hesitantly.

"I…I was…very, very frightened that night, do you remember?"

"Yes, Christine, I remember. And I told you that I would protect you and guard you…that I would hide you from that _monster_."

Christine shuddered. _This is not going to be easy. _"Raoul…I believe that…well, what I think is…that I…I turned to you _because_ I was frightened."

Raoul's eyes narrowed. "What do you _mean_?"

She covered her face with her hands. "I don't know…I…I just think that what I felt for you…what I feel for you…is more of…_friendship._ I _love_ you, Raoul…"

"And I love _you_," he responded, reaching for her hands.

"…but I do not believe that I am _in_ _love_ with you."

He froze. "_What?_"

She looked at him with tears in her eyes. "I cannot marry you."

"_Christine_?" He looked as if he were struggling to breathe. "You…you can't mean that!"

"I'm so sorry. I…I was afraid, Raoul! I was a scared, little girl living in a dream world—and you…you were like my knight in shining armor, coming to take me away and rescue me from the horrible beast…like the stories that Father used to tell us. I wanted the fairy tale to come true, Raoul, I honestly did. But life is not a fairy tale…and I am not a damsel in distress any longer." She looked down at her hands in her lap. "I have had time to think, time to breathe…and I know that I cannot join myself to you in marriage. I thought perhaps that I might need more time to see what was in my heart, but I realized the truth sooner than I expected. My feelings are not going to change. I am not the Little Lotte that you knew. Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing…and she needed to be rescued. You rescued her, Raoul…and she has grown up now. Please know that I will always love you for what you have done for me."

He stared at her, speechless, his mouth hanging open. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. His love, the woman he was to marry, had just shattered his dream. He shook his head in disbelief. "You don't know what it is that you are saying…you are simply exhausted from your week away. Get some rest and we will speak about this tomorrow," he replied coldly. He stood and backed away from her. "Goodnight, Christine." He left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Christine collapsed on her bed, sobbing. _What did I expect? I am such a fool! Did I think that he would accept this news easily? He will not give me up without a fight, I am certain of it. I have to leave this place tomorrow. I cannot stay here any longer_, she thought. She tried to form an escape plan in her mind…a plan to leave the de Chagny estate and begin her life as a new woman.

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Christine awoke early, the sun shining brightly in her eyes. Helene had come in and opened the drapes abruptly, letting in the light.

"Helene? What…what time is it?"

"It is nearly seven-thirty, Mademoiselle. Le Viscomte asked me to wake you."

Christine felt sick. "Th-thank you, Helene. Would you help me dress, please?"

Christine gingerly walked downstairs after dressing, wondering what exactly was going on. _Why would he ask her to wake me at this hour?_ Suddenly, a fear washed over her_. I am going to have to go through this all over again._

She stepped into the dining room, where she saw that Raoul was seated, reading the newspaper and sipping his morning coffee. She watched him for a moment and was startled when she realized that she felt completely numb…no emotion for this man who had saved her, who had done nothing but love her and risk his life for her. _What kind of heartless woman **am** I?_ she marveled.

Raoul looked up from his paper. "Come in, Christine, please. Sit down." She did not care for his tone at all.

"I have been thinking about what you told me last night," he gazed at her sadly. "Did you mean what you said? Do you no longer wish to become my wife?"

She averted her eyes from his gaze. "I…I'm so sorry, Raoul. I did mean what I said last night…all of it. I will always love you, but I cannot become your wife."

He nodded curtly. "Very well. You will pack your belongings at once and leave this house."

"Wh-what?" she stammered. _I was expecting at least some sort of…**protest**._

"You heard me, Christine. If you are not to become my wife, then there is no reason for you to be here, is there?" There was pain in his voice, and bitterness. "I want to know one thing."

She swallowed hard.

"Did you…were you…_ever_ in love with me, Lotte?" his expression softened a bit.

"Oh, Raoul. I…I _thought_ I was. But when we spent a week apart, I realized that…that what I feel for you is _love_, but it is not the love between a man and wife. I'm so, so sorry," she wept.

"And this has nothing to do with that…that _monster_?" he spat the words at her.

_Oh, no. Oh, **God**, no._ "I…I cannot honestly say that it has nothing to do with him," she replied, her stomach tensing.

"So you have feelings for him, then?" he looked at her coldly.

"I cannot say for certain," she lied. "He will always have a special place in my heart."

He leaned back in his chair. "Well. I suppose that there isn't any more to say, then, is there? I believe I understand you perfectly. I shall order my carriage to escort you to wherever you wish to go when you leave here today. Helene will help you to pack your belongings," he spoke the last words softly, and she could see that he was purposely putting up a wall against her in his heart. She stood from her chair and touched his cheek. "Raoul, I…" He averted his eyes from hers. "Just go, Christine…_please_, just _go_."

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Helene assisted Christine with the last of her garments. Several suitcases were lined neatly in a row by the bedroom door. "Mademoiselle, I…I am going to miss you," Helene smiled sadly at Christine.

"Oh, Helene, and I you," she reached out to embrace her. Helene had been the closest thing to a friend that Christine had had recently, as she had not spoken with Meg since the fire. "Thank you…for everything."

Helene left the room and Christine quickly jotted a note to Raoul on a piece of stationery.

_Dearest Raoul:_

_I hope that someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me for my actions. I know that I was a foolish girl, and perhaps part of me still is. But I need to find out who I really am, and try to make a life for myself. _

_I am so sorry that I have hurt you. You have always been a good friend to me and I will hold all of our times together fondly in my heart for the rest of my life._

_With Deepest Love,_

_Christine_

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Raoul escorted Christine out to the waiting carriage. "Goodbye, Little Lotte," he said, allowing her to embrace him one last time. She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him on the mouth. "I shall always love you, Raoul de Chagny. Please forgive me." A tear trickled down her cheek as she stepped into the carriage and closed the door. She watched the estate disappear into the distance and she sighed a sigh of relief. _Oh, God, thank you for getting me through this. Now…I need Your help even more._ She prayed that the seamstress would welcome her with open arms, as the carriage traveled down the dusty road toward its destination.

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Erik stood looking out the kitchen windows. He felt like a desperate man praying a desperate prayer. "Bring her back to me, Lord," he whispered. "_Please_, bring her back to me."

**A/N: Okay, I already know what you're all thinkin'...how could Raoul just let her go without a fight? But be patient, my wonderful readers! You will understand in time!**

To poetzproblem: You're BACK! Thank you, I'm glad that you think the transition in Christine's life is believable. Unfortunately, poor Raoul is scrambling to catch up!

To haley macrae: Thanks again...your comments are always so kind and encouraging!

To Barbara: I'm so glad you decided to post a review! Thanks for your nice comments about the tea chapter (20). It was weird...like I could feel the tension myself! I did my best to try and convey everyone's emotions and personalities. Glad you're enjoying the story!


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N and Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Phantom or the original characters from it. Wish I did, but I don't! Also, thanks to poetzproblem for informing me about the new rules…I can't respond publicly to reviews anymore, and I don't want to get this story banned, so if you would like a response, and you are an anonymous reviewer, leave your email. Thanks to everyone! –hugs-**

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Christine stepped from the carriage and motioned to the driver to wait. Stepping up to the storefront, she took a deep breath and walked inside.

"May I help you?" an older woman smiled slightly at her from behind a large table, covered with long scraps of fabric.

"Y-yes, my name is…Christine. I am a friend of Madame Giry. D-do you know her?"

"Of course, she and I have been acquainted for many years. You say that your name is Christine? Surely not the Christine that she _raised_ all these years?" the woman lifted her eyebrows curiously, studying Christine's face.

"Yes, Madame. I am Christine…Christine Daae. I…I am looking for employment."

"Employment, eh? The last I heard, you were a prima donna of sorts. What happened to _that_, Mademoiselle?" she eyed her with some suspicion.

Christine was slightly annoyed. "Madame, I am sure that you have heard about the fire at the Populaire recently. I…I have no place to live…nowhere to go, and I obviously do not have a place to work, as it is currently in ruins."

"Hmmm." The seamstress looked her up and down. "Can you even _sew_?"

"Of course I can! Why would I be here otherwise?" Christine was indignant. "I have assisted with many costumes from the Opera. But I'm afraid I do not have any references, other than the costume designer there, Madame."

"Well…" the older woman paused, placing her hands on her hips. "Seeing as how I have had quite a bit more business as of late…I suppose I could use an extra pair of hands around here."

"Really?" Christine nearly bounced with excitement. _Thank you, Lord!_ "I…I mean…when would you like me to start?"

"You can start today. I also happen to have a room upstairs that you can use until you earn your first paycheck, Mademoiselle. It is very small, but it does have a bed. It should suit your needs for now, I would think. What do you say?"

"Yes, thank you, Madame! I accept! And I am grateful to you for this chance. But…I'm sorry…I don't believe that I know your name." She looked puzzled, as if trying to recall the information.

"Annette Dubois. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Daae," she mock curtsied to Christine, and Christine had to giggle at her.

"Pleased to meet you, Madame Dubois," she curtsied in return. "Shall I have my things brought inside?"

"You have them with you already?" the woman asked her, shocked.

"Yes, as I said…I had nowhere else to go."

"Very well, then, bring your belongings inside. You can have lunch before you start to work. I have a few meats and cheeses in the back room."

Christine stepped outside and told the carriage driver that she would be staying. He was kind enough to help her bring her luggage inside the storefront, and she thanked him, watching the de Chagny carriage drive away. _What has become of me?_ she wondered. _What is to become of my life now? I don't even know who I am anymore! _With a mixture of sadness and anticipation, she walked determinedly back inside the seamstress's shop and closed the door behind her.

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Erik had tried all morning to focus intently on his work. Monsieur Giroux had sent him several more projects and he had a deadline to meet. Once again, however, his thoughts turned elsewhere. Frustrated, he stood up from the kitchen table abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair. Staring out the kitchen window, he ran a hand through the fuller side of his hair. He had not yet put on his wig or mask...he saw no need, as he planned to be alone, and visitors were unlikely.

In his mind's eye, he imagined Christine sleeping happily at the de Chagny estate, waking to her handsome young Viscomte and his _perfect_ face, with his _perfect_ manners and his _perfect_ fortune. "God forgive me, I cannot **stand** that insolent boy!" he roared, pounding his fist on the window glass, causing it to fracture slightly. He winced when he saw the result, and bowed his head. _Here I stand, hiding from the world again, and that boy has everything that I do not! He has had everything **handed** to him his whole life, and what have **I** received? _He thought for a moment and was ashamed of himself. _I have received **much** as of late_, he thought. _I have somehow been…made whole, in my heart…even without Christine. _"God, I love her, You **know **that. But if I never see her again, then…I must trust Your judgment. I trust You, because I have no other choice. I have been alone for so long. I ask that You would find a way, Lord…make a way for me to have love in my life. Someone who will accept me for who I am…and for the man that You are helping me to become." He turned from the window and sat down at the table again, feeling a bit more at peace. He stared at his designs for a few moments before a new idea came to him, as he picked up his pencil and continued sketching.

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Christine was receiving the "grand tour" of the seamstress shop. "In there's the kitchen, and upstairs on the right is your room. Come down after you've put your things away and you can eat. Then I'll put you to work," Madame Dubois said somewhat gruffly, motioning with her arm.

"Thank you, Madame. I'll be down in a moment," Christine sighed and trudged up the stairs, carrying a few bags with her. She had several more trips to make up the steep staircase. When she stepped inside the room, she wondered where on earth she was going to put _herself_, let alone her bags. _I can't **wait** until I get my paycheck_, she thought. _Then perhaps I could afford a room that I can **breathe** in!_

After she had carried every last piece of luggage into her room, Christine had only about two feet of space in which to dress, move, or stand. She had stacked the luggage up on itself against the wall, and it was about three layers deep. She began to wonder if this was meant to be a room at all…it was more like a closet. She changed into something less formal and walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. Madame Dubois had set out a plate and there was a sandwich in the center, with a glass of milk next to it. Christine was grateful, as she had eaten nothing yet that day, and she ate the food, gulping the milk down in a very unladylike manner.

"Finished?" Madame Dubois had been standing at the doorway for a few moments. Christine had been oblivious to her presence.

"Y-yes, Madame. Thank you for the sandwich," she said shyly.

"It wasn't for you. That was _my_ lunch," she huffed.

Christine was mortified. "I…I'm so sorry, Madame, I just assumed…"

Madame Dubois chuckled. "Don't look so _serious_, young lady! I was teasing you."

Christine breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh." She laughed softly. "I can't tell when you're being serious and when you are teasing, Madame."

"Years of practice, dearie, _years_ of practice," she cackled. "Now, come on in here and let me show you what I want you to do."

Christine dutifully followed her into the large storefront room and looked at all of the scraps of cloth lining the large table. "These are panels for drapes," Madame Dubois pointed out. "You need to take them to the machine now and put a hem in them," she motioned with her arm to the left side of the room, where a large contraption sat. Christine nodded, "Yes, Madame." She got to work right away, and Madame Dubois did not give her a rest until she had worked for several hours straight. The day seemed to fly by.

"Five o'clock, dearie, time to close up shop," Madame Dubois announced.

Christine looked up from the sewing machine. Her eyes were somewhat bloodshot from attempting to focus for so long, and her fingers felt dry. She was more than ready to stop for the day. "Yes, Madame. Where would you like these panels?" She placed them in the spot indicated to her and tried unsuccessfully to smooth the wrinkles from her dress.

Madame Dubois locked the storefront and retreated to the kitchen. She began to gather up several items when Christine walked in. "Madame? What are you doing?"

"Going home, of course. Did you think that I lived here?" she chuckled at Christine's naivety.

Christine blushed. "Well…yes, I suppose I did. I didn't really think…"

"No, you didn't, did you?" Madame Dubois laughed. "I have a husband who'd like his supper on the table soon. Help yourself to the food that I have in the kitchen here, if that suits you. Should be plenty for a thin girl like you."

Christine frowned but recovered quickly. "Thank you, Madame. I appreciate your…hospitality." She watched as Madame Dubois walked out the back door and locked it behind her. _At least it unlocks from the inside_, Christine thought. She had certainly never enjoyed being locked in rooms…unless there was another way out. She thought back to her old dressing room at the Populaire. _There was another way out of that room_, she recalled, _and it led to a completely strange, new world._ She sighed. "Oh Erik, I miss you, but…perhaps I need to prove some things to **myself**," she spoke aloud. With a heavy heart and a weary body, she walked upstairs and flopped down onto the creaky bed. "What am I doing here?" she spoke to the ceiling. "Have I ever really known who Christine Daae is?" She prayed silently for a while, making sure to mention both Raoul and Erik, as well as others she had met the week prior. Finally, she stood, feeling quite lonely, though she knew she was never truly alone. "Lord, I feel like I don't have a friend in this whole world," she mourned, wiping away the few tears that fell from her eyes. Suddenly, she had an idea. _It isn't far_, she thought. _I could easily walk the distance to get there!_ Wrapping her shawl around her, she walked down the stairs and out the back door, making sure to leave it unlocked so that she could get back in for the night.

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**A/N**: **Another note**, in case you were wondering: I actually have several chapters past this one already written, though I am still doing minor tweaking and editing to them. The major plot lines are in place, and though I understand that many authors ask for input on their plot lines...for this particular story, I already had one in mind. A few of you have suggested different ideas for the plot, and I appreciate them all (and perhaps if I should write another fic in the future, I could make use of those ideas), but it would be very difficult for me to change the plot line at this point. I hope that you aren't too upset if some of the events in this story don't go quite the way you think they should. And let me encourage you...if you have great ideas for a plot, WRITE! My friend convinced ME to do it, so why not you? Just go for it...and I'll likely be reading your awesome story! -Blessings to you all!-


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Christine walked several blocks as the sky began to grow darker. _Why did I leave the shop?_ she thought to herself. _I will have to walk back alone in the darkness. _She felt a chill as the realization dawned on her. She was alone…completely and utterly alone, for the first time in her life. Not even when her father died had she truly been alone, because Madame Giry and Meg had become her family. _But now…I have alienated everyone I love, except for the Girys…and I do not even know where I might find them!_ Hot tears began to spill down her cheeks and she wiped them away, frustrated with herself. _Stop it, Christine!_ But the tears still came.

Finally, she reached her destination. The doors were still unlocked. Stepping inside, the warm glow of candles greeted her. The church was empty and she took a moment to light a candle for her father, as she always had. _Father, I miss you…and I feel so alone. You sent me an Angel…and I did not recognize until now that he was the best thing that has ever happened to me. _She crossed herself and knelt for a moment before seating herself in an empty pew at the back of the church. Everything was so silent that she thought for a moment that Father Michel wasn't there. A noise to her left caused her to jump suddenly, and he emerged from his study.

"M-Mademoiselle Daae?" he stammered, clearly shocked to see her sitting there alone. "Is everything alright?" His brow wrinkled with concern as he quickly approached her.

"Oh, Father!" she cried, burying her face in her hands. Her body racked with sobs and she could not make them stop.

"Mademoiselle? What on earth has _happened_ to you?" He sat down beside her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

At last, the sobbing began to subside. Christine raised her head and looked at Father Michel with puffy eyes. "I've done it, Father."

"_What_ have you done, Mademoiselle?"

"I've broken my engagement. And now I am alone and have no one and nothing…"

"What do you mean, child? You are not alone—you have the Laurents, and myself, and…Erik…"

"No, Father, I do not." She sniffled and tried to compose herself, but her lower lip was still quivering. "The Laurents are friends of my fian—_former_ fiancé, and Erik…well, Erik…"

"Erik _what_, child? Does he know about this?"

Christine shook her head. "No. I mean, I _told_ him that I was going to end my engagement, but he…he doesn't know that I've already done it and that I am alone now. Raoul…my former fiancé…asked me to leave his home immediately after I told him that I could not marry him. I have no family, Father…save my foster mother and her daughter, but I do not know where they are living. And…and I just _can't_ go to Erik! He will think that I've only come to him b-because…I have nowhere else to _go_!" Hot tears began to fill her eyes once more.

"Child, are you now without a place to _live_?" he asked incredulously. "Your former fiancé asked you to leave without knowing if you would find a place to _stay_?"

"Yes, he did, but I have found a temporary place to sleep," she sniffled. She felt a surge of pride and she stuck out her chin slightly. "I have secured employment at a seamstress shop several blocks from here. And I can stay there until I have saved enough money to find a more…_permanent_ residence."

"Well, thank Heaven for _that_!" He sighed and shook his head. "I am so sorry that this has happened to you, Mademoiselle Daae. You seem like a lovely young woman, and surely you do not deserve to be thrown out on the street--"

She interrupted him. "Oh, _yes_, a **lovely** young woman **I** am! So **lovely**, in fact, that I have hurt everyone who has ever **loved** me!" she cried, wallowing in self-pity. "I deserve whatever pain I receive, Father. I realize that now."

He shook his head. "You sound just like Erik."

"W-_what_?"

He sighed. "God wants what is best for your life, Mademoiselle. You must view this as an opportunity to grow…to find out who He truly wants you to become." _This conversation is all too familiar, _he chuckled to himself.

"I…I have never known who I really _am_…perhaps you are right, Father," she said slowly, as if she were analyzing each word individually.

"There! You see? Even a _priest _can have something valuable to say at times," he laughed.

Christine let out a giggle. Then her expression suddenly turned serious. "Father…do you think that Erik and I will ever be…together?"

"Oh, Mademoiselle, only God knows. But many waters cannot quench love, nor can rivers wash it away."

"That's lovely! Where did you hear that?"

"King Solomon." He chuckled. "He was very wise, you know, until…he made some foolish decisions."

"_Really?_ What did he do?"

Father Michel cleared his throat. "He chose to do things his own way rather than God's."

"Oh." She looked down at her feet. "So…what you are saying is…that I should let _God_ handle things?"

"I couldn't have said it better myself," he winked.

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Erik stood quickly to answer a knock at the door. A servant of the main house stood there, holding an envelope. "Monsieur, this came for you a short while ago." He bowed slightly and turned to leave. "Thank you," Erik replied.

He closed the door and looked at the return address—it was from Monsieur Renault. He ripped it open, nearly slicing his skin on the paper, and read the contents:

_Dear Monsieur Durand:_

_As you can see from the line above, all has been made legal regarding your surname. _

_I am also writing to inform you that I contacted Monsieur Giroux of Giroux & Associates this morning and your salary will be sent directly to me and deposited into your account._

_It has been a pleasure serving you again. If there is anything that I might do to assist you in the future, please do not hesitate to contact me._

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Philippe Renault_

_And now I suppose that he will want his "reward" for his assistance_, Erik thought smugly. But for once, he was actually quite satisfied. He tucked several hundred francs into an envelope with a note of thanks and signed it: _Erik Durand_. He thought it looked strange…his first name now completed with an actual, legal surname. He marveled at how his circumstances had changed after less than two weeks. He had gone from being a Phantom to being a _real_ _man_ with _real_ _employment _and a_ real_ _name_. How he wished for the remaining thing to become his: a _real wife_. _But I have more than I ever dreamed possible at this moment, even without…her. _He said a silent prayer of thanks to the One who had made it all possible. _I believe this calls for a celebration_, he thought, as he snatched up his cloak and exited the house.

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"Mademoiselle, I was wondering…and forgive me for asking,but… have you eaten today?" Father Michel asked her, slightly concerned for her wellbeing.

"I…I had a sandwich earlier, Father." She looked at him quizzically, caught a bit off guard by the question.

"Oh. Very good, then. I would hate for you to go hungry. Have…have you any plans for supper?" He smiled as though embarrassed. _What right do I have to ask these questions? _he thought. _Still, she has no family, and everyone needs a friend to look after them, don't they?_

"Well, I…" she sighed. "No, not really. Madame Dubois, the seamstress, said that she had a few things in the shop kitchen that I could eat if I wished, but—"

"Well, then, it's settled. You will eat supper here with me! I have plenty and I don't mind sharing. After all, one can see I could stand to make my meal portions…a bit smaller!" he laughed, patting his somewhat round belly.

Christine giggled again. _I like this priest_, she thought. _He is like a breath of fresh air for me! _"Alright, I shall stay, then. If you insist, Father."

"I most certainly do," he stated matter-of-factly. "Now, the kitchen is right over here, so please go in and look around and help yourself to whatever you like. I will put a kettle on in my study."

Christine nodded. She went to the large curtain and pulled it back. _What a clever place to put a kitchen, _she thought. _You'd never even know that it was here! _She stepped behind the curtain, letting it fall back against the wall again.

Father Michel put the kettle over the fire in his study and went to the curio to retrieve two teacups. He nearly dropped one when he turned and caught sight of an imposing figure standing in the doorway of his study.

"ERIK!" the old priest nearly shouted. "My _goodness_, you startled me!"

Erik strode in with a swagger, pushing his cloak from his head. Smiling a wide, toothy grin, he replied, "I told you before, **old man**, I have to make an _entrance_!"

Father Michel laughed and embraced Erik in a fatherly gesture, teacups still in hand. "It's good to see you again, my boy! To what do I owe this honor?"

"I am a new man, Father. I came by to celebrate with you," he said, producing a bottle of wine, "that I am the proud bearer of a surname at last!"

"That's wonderful! So, what is this new name of yours?" Father Michel winked.

"Durand. Erik Durand. What do you think of it?" he smiled.

"Durand…it seems like a fine name to me, Erik. A fine name," he chuckled.

Erik glanced down at the teacups in the priest's hands. "_Expecting_ me, were you?"

Father Michel gasped. He had completely forgotten about Christine when Erik startled him. "Oh…oh, my! Uh…no, Erik…I'm afraid that this other teacup is for…my _visitor_."

Erik immediately tensed and turned to leave. "You—you have someone here? I-I'm sorry. I must go…what if someone sees me?"

"Erik, wait!" Father Michel began. "It's…it's perfectly safe. I'll…think of something. You just wait here, please." Erik reluctantly stayed, but he walked to the darkest corner of the room so he could conceal himself should anyone walk in unexpectedly. He blended in quite well with the surroundings…he was barely noticeable in the shadows when fully cloaked.

Father Michel closed the study door behind him just as Christine was emerging from the kitchen alcove, carrying two plates, balanced very precariously in her arms. _Thank goodness she is employed as a seamstress and not as a waitress_, he thought, amused.

"Mademoiselle…uh…I…I…" he stammered, having no idea what to do in such an awkward situation. And then it came to him suddenly. _Why am I nervous about this? Could this be the Lord's hand at work? _

"Father?" she stared at him, concerned. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no, there's nothing wrong," he replied nervously, quickly taking one of the plates from her arms. "Thank you so much for making two plates. Did—did you find everything you needed?"

"Yes," she smiled. "I so appreciate your generosity. I hope that someday I can repay you."

"Oh, nonsense," he replied, turning red-faced. "We are all called to be generous, are we not?"

"Yes, I suppose you're right. But nonetheless, thank you," she smiled sweetly. "Did you say you had a kettle on in your study? I would love some tea!"

Father Michel's nervousness was gradually beginning to fade. "Yes. Yes I do have tea in the study. Would you care to eat your supper there?"

"Unless you would rather I get crumbs on your lovely pews," she laughed.

"Right this way." He turned and stepped to the study door, turning the knob. "Ladies first, Mademoiselle," he smiled in anticipation.

_What has gotten into this man?_ Christine wondered. _He is suddenly acting very strangely._ "Father…are you _certain_ that you are alright?"

He nodded and she turned slowly, stepping through the door into the dimly lit study, with Father Michel following closely behind.

Christine noticed the glow of the fire immediately, and the silver kettle. Her eyes wandered over to the curio cabinet and then to the other side of the room where she saw a large bookcase and a desk and…_did something just move in the corner of the room? _She jumped and let out a small cry, nearly dropping her plate.

Erik stepped forward from the shadows, pushing the cowl of his cloak from his head. "_Christine?_"

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**A/N:** Well, it seems that my stats have gone awry. They're stuck, and they're actually showing that NO ONE has read the last three or four chapters, which I know can't be true, because several of you have REVIEWED on those chapters. -sigh- How depressing. So, lemme know if you're reading, okay? Drop me a quick review!


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

"_Erik_?" Christine stood there, dumbfounded, barely breathing. "What-what are you _doing_ here?"

Erik stared at her, nearly forgetting to speak as he lost himself in her deep brown eyes. "I…I came to speak with Father Michel. What are _you_ doing here, Christine?"

Father Michel smiled and handed Erik the plate of food that he had been holding. "Well, I think that I should leave you two alone now…"

"**No!**" Erik and Christine both shouted at the priest simultaneously.

Father Michel laughed out loud. "What on earth has gotten _into_ you two? Alright then, I shall stay…but only for a short while. Erik, I believe that you were sharing your good news with me. Perhaps this is something that Christine would be pleased to learn, as well." He motioned slightly with his head. _**Tell** her, you stubborn man!_

Erik glared at the priest briefly before turning his attention back to Christine. "I…I received a letter today…and I now have a…a surname," he felt slightly embarrassed to be speaking about this with Christine, though he did not understand why. "Durand."

"Oh, Erik!" she exclaimed joyfully. "That is wonderful news! I am so happy for you! You've waited so _long_ for this, haven't you?" She beamed at him, and he felt his face growing hotter.

"I have," he replied, trying unsuccessfully to remove the look of joy from his face. Then a wave of gratitude washed over him once more. He furrowed his brow and added, "The God that I once cursed has given me a new life, a home, a new job, and a new name. I have so much to be thankful for." He looked away, overcome with emotion.

"Erik, my boy, you deserve all the happiness that He can give to you," Father Michel laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it.

Christine felt herself flush at Father Michel's statement. _Perhaps **I **could be part of his happiness, _she hoped.

Erik raised his chin after a brief moment and composed himself once again. Though he no longer had the cold aloofness that Christine was so accustomed to seeing in him, he still had a proud stature…imposing and almost regal. "Christine, you haven't yet told me why you are here…I…I thought that you were…"

"With Raoul?" she interrupted him, cringing when she saw Erik tense at the very mention of that name. "No, Erik. As I told you before, I had planned to end my engagement."

"But…so soon? I…I thought that perhaps you might have come to your _senses_ and changed your mind," he replied sardonically.

"All of my senses are fully intact, thank you," she replied curtly. "And if you _must_ know why I am here," her voice lowered to just above a whisper, "he asked me to leave at once." She dropped her gaze to her plate, still in her hands.

Erik was stunned. Completely flabbergasted...and angry. "That…that **boy** threw you out, with nowhere to _go_? _Merde!_ I should snap his pitiful, arrogant **neck**!" he roared, immediately wishing that he had made himself a new lasso.

Father Michel's eyes went wide and he quickly took the plate of food from Erik's hands. "Erik, please, **calm down**! You are in God's house, and you should not use that kind of language here…or at **all**, for that matter!" He set the plate on the small table and then reached for Christine's. He dared not lay a hand on Erik at that moment…he could see the murderous rage in his eyes and wisely kept himself at a distance.

"There is no excuse for what he did! He should be strung up for this! I would do it **myself**!" Erik could feel the bloodlust growing in his veins once more…a feeling he had not experienced in nearly two weeks. The Viscomte had been the object of Erik's wrath before, and he was again at that moment.

"Erik, no…_please_," Christine reached out and grasped both of his hands. "You…you are not the man you were, remember? You told me yourself. Just let it go…**please**." She looked upon him with such love that he could scarcely breathe, and all of the anger he felt disappeared almost instantly.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Christine. You are right." He squeezed her delicate hands gently, massaging them with his thumbs. "After all, I suppose we can allow the young Viscomte to make but _one_ mistake in his very privileged life, can we not?" His bitterness was materializing itself as sarcasm, as it so often had in the past. He sighed. _Old habits die hard. Lord, help me to overcome this bitterness, and forgive me._ "Father, I apologize to you as well…I suppose that I have many…_weaknesses_…to overcome." He smiled slightly at the old priest.

Father Michel nodded and returned the slight smile. "As do we **all**, my boy. I understand." Suddenly he broke into a wide grin. "Are you certain that you do not wish to join me in confession now, Erik?"

Erik shot him an annoyed glance. "Quite certain. I will be just fine on my own."

Father Michel stretched and pretended to yawn. "Oh, well, it is growing later, and I believe that I have a few things to do…in the…um, the kitchen, yes…before I go to bed. I shall leave you two to talk." He smiled and left the room, but left the door open…_just in case I am needed_, he told himself.

Erik's eyes followed the old priest until he exited the room. He suddenly felt as though his stomach were fluttering, and he quickly turned his gaze down to his calloused musician's hands, which were still grasping Christine's. _Her hands are so small and soft_, he thought. He could smell the familiar scent of her hair again, and he began to feel a bit hazy. _I'm afraid to look in her eyes_, he thought, surprised at his own hesitation. _I was the Opera Ghost, and yet I stand here, afraid to look into the eyes of the woman I love._ He could practically feel her eyes burning into him, and he took a deep breath before meeting her gaze.

"Are you alright, Erik?" Christine asked him, smiling a half-smile. _He suddenly seems so…unsure. He has never acted this way before with me._

Erik sighed. "Yes, Christine. I am just surprised to see you here." A thought dawned on him. He looked at her strangely. "Where are you staying now—now that that **boy** has thrown you out on the _street_?" He felt his face flush, and he scolded himself inwardly again for speaking so bitterly.

_Should I tell him? What will he say? Will he be ashamed of me for accepting such a…**common** job?_ Christine took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She did not want to witness his initial reaction. "I have secured employment and I…I have a room there." She knew the next question would be forthcoming, and she dreaded having to answer it.

He eyed her suspiciously. "Secured employment? Doing what? Where?"

She sighed and hung her head, eyes still tightly shut. "At a…at a seamstress shop…assisting the owner with various things." She cringed slightly, but peeked out through one eye, leaning her head up so that she could see his face.

Erik almost laughed when he saw the way she was acting. _Sometimes she still reminds me of the little girl she once was._ He knew what she was expecting him to say—and clearly, she was fearful of it. He prayed that he wouldn't say anything foolish. "You are working for a seamstress?" He tried to keep his voice calm. "I don't _understand_, Christine. Why would someone with your talent be working in such a--"

"A _common_ position, Erik?" She was looking directly at him now, knowing that his worst possible reaction was over. "I knew that you would think that. I…I didn't want to tell you because I thought that you would be--"

"Angry?" he suggested.

"Ashamed of me," she replied softly.

He shook his head, releasing one of his hands from hers, placing it under her chin. He stroked the underside of her jaw gently. "There are many things that I feel for you, Christine…but I could _never_ be ashamed of you."

A look of relief came upon her countenance. "Oh, Erik. _Thank_ you," she reached up and touched his perfectly smooth cheek. "It means so much to hear you say that…I--"

"Shhh," he whispered, lifting his thumb to her lower lip, stroking it lightly. They stood there in silence, eyes burning with longing. He could barely restrain himself…he wanted to claim her mouth with his own, but he knew that there were things that still needed to be said--to be made right, before he would allow himself to succumb to his urge. "You need to eat something, mon ange," he whispered again.

Christine responded softly, her voice sounding husky. "I'm not hungry."

He pulled away suddenly, his desire nearly exploding within him when she spoke in such a manner. He had never heard her voice filled with such…_yearning_ before. _I need to sit down,_ he thought, _before something happens that I may regret later. _He quickly seated himself in one of the armchairs and placed the plate in his lap. He cleared his throat. "Sit down and join me, please. The food looks delicious."

She raised a surprised eyebrow at him. "**Delicious?** Erik, since when have you _ever_ found food to be delicious? You…you hardly used to eat at _all_…"

"I must eat more now to keep my strength up…what with all my sketching and my building of wheelchairs and such," he grinned. "I have changed in many ways in a very short time, mon ange."

_Oh, how I love to hear him call me that again_, she sighed inwardly. It sounded beautiful to her ears. "Yes…you have." She seated herself in the other armchair and set the plate in her lap. She smirked when Erik began to eat his food.

"What?" he asked her, noticing her annoyed look.

"We have not yet thanked the Lord for our food, _mon ange_," she grinned.

"Oh." He swallowed the morsels he had chewed and looked at her strangely. "It seems that I'm not yet accustomed to such things."

She giggled. "It's alright. Would _you_ like to say the blessing?"

He turned his gaze to his plate. "If you don't mind a horribly non-traditional prayer."

"Not at all," she smiled encouragingly.

Erik cleared his throat. _This is terribly awkward_. "Uh…Heavenly Father, we…we thank you for this food that you have given us, and for your many blessings. In…in Christ's name we pray, Amen."

"Amen." She smiled at him and then looked at him with a thoughtful expression. "I never dreamed that I would hear **you** praying, Erik. What happened to you to make you change your mind…about the Lord?"

Erik swallowed his food and wondered if he should tell her what he read that had brought about the initial change in him…about where his deformity had come from. It seemed as if it had been months since he stumbled upon the information…so many things had changed and he now saw only shadows of his past when he reflected upon his current life. "I…I found some information…in a book. You know that I had always blamed God for _this_," he motioned to his mask. She nodded slowly. "I read something…something horrible…and I realized that it was the reason for this face."

She shook her head as if she did not understand. "What, Erik? What was it that you read?"

"I don't know if I should speak of it now…it is rather ghastly and does not make for polite conversation."

Christine reached out and laid her hand upon his. "_Please_, Erik. I…I told you that I want to _know_ you—I want to know why you are the man that you are now. I want to know what brought about this change in your heart." She looked at him with her pleading brown eyes, and he could not resist her.

He sighed. "Very well. But…perhaps I should let you read it for yourself." He stood up and found the book on Father Michel's shelf and located the page. He walked to Christine and stood before her holding the open book, turning it so that she could read it. He pointed to the passage and studied her face as she read. She was focusing intently on the words, and after a moment, the sides of her mouth began to droop into a frown and her eyes grew wide and watery. "Oh…oh my _God_!" She was mortified by the very idea of ending a life yet unborn. She was still very innocent of the ways of the world, though she had heard whispers at the Opera of dancers who had been pregnant and then suddenly…they _weren't_…but she had never taken the time to think things through before. It was as if her eyes were opened at last to the abomination of it all.

Erik closed the book and returned it to its place on the shelf. "Do you understand what you have read, Christine?" He seated himself in the armchair again.

She shuddered and spoke just above a whisper. "I…I think so. It's talking about k-killing babies…before they are born?" she squinted at him.

"Yes."

"But, Erik…I don't understand." She wrinkled her brow. "What does this have to do with your _face_?"

He sighed. "Mon ange, my _mother_…she is the one who did this to me."

"**What**?" she gasped.

"She…she tried to…" He was growing more emotional as he spoke. "She never _wanted_ me, Christine. She took something…something that was supposed to…_kill_ me. Before I was ever born."

She stared at him in horror.

He continued. "Instead of ending my life, it…the chemicals…gave me _this_," he said, motioning again to the masked side of his face.

The plate of food on Christine's lap suddenly clattered to the floor, food flying everywhere on the rug, as she threw herself from the armchair at his feet, weeping. She reached up and raised herself to his knees, laying her forehead on them. "No, Erik! **No**! How could she have **done** this to you? You had done **nothing**! You…you hadn't even taken a **breath**! _Mon Dieu_! She _hurt_ you! Your own _mother_!" She was shaking violently, her sobs quickly turning into wails.

Erik tried to console her. "Shhh. It's alright now…I am fine. Please, Christine, don't cry any more. Please…_please_, mon amour!" Christine clung to him desperately, still sobbing. "Don't...you musn't do this to yourself! I am _alright_, Christine. I…I shouldn't have told you this. Please don't let this upset you." _How on earth would she react if she knew the whole truth about my mother's abuse and abandonment?_ he wondered.

She began to quiet and looked up at him with tear streaks on her face. "Erik…how could this _not_ upset me?" she asked him in amazement. "I can't even _imagine_ living in a world without you!" Then suddenly, her expression changed. "What…what did you just call me?"

Erik was stunned at first, trying to think back on his words. _I had been trying to soothe her…what did I say?_ He drew in a rapid breath. _I **did** say that. I called her mon amour. Oh, no. _"Oh…oh, Christine, I'm sorry. I--"

"No, Erik." She reached up, placing a finger to his lips to silence him. "Don't be sorry. Unless you didn't truly mean it."

The stunned expression left Erik's face and he reached out to grasp her hand, pressing a kiss to her finger. "Then I am not sorry," he whispered, longing to take her in his arms and kiss her perfect lips until neither one of them could breathe…but instead he gently caressed her hand, kissing each finger in turn, then grazing her knuckles with his soft lips.

Christine could feel the feverish blush that had rushed to her cheeks. She sat there on her knees before him, reveling in his soft kisses and caresses. It was as if she had wanted this her whole life. She couldn't speak…she simply stared into his piercing blue-green eyes and tried not to lose consciousness.

Neither Erik nor Christine had noticed that Father Michel was standing in the doorway to his study. He had rushed to the door when he heard Christine's frantic sobs. _Yes, Lord_, he thought, smiling. _I do believe that this was all **Your** doing_.

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**A/N:** A little bit of angst, and a little bit of fluff! I want to thank those of you who sent me reviews. I really appreciate it. You were all very encouraging and complimentary, bless your hearts! If I could, I'd bake some brownies for you and send them right away! -hugs- If there are more of you out there still reading, drop me a note. I don't know if fanfic's going to be able to fix this stat problem or not. -shrugs- Well, I am glad that those of you still reading are liking it. I hope I don't crack under the pressure! LOL!


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: I don't have rights to Phantom or to any lyrics, etc. contained within. I also don't have rights to any other movie or book, but that's beside the point. -chuckles- **

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Father Michel slowly and stealthily backed away from the study door, returning to the kitchen alcove, smiling. _Of all the people I have ever known, Erik needs to experience real and lasting love in his life. Lord, please grant it to him._

Erik and Christine were lost in each other's eyes for several moments, both of them realizing at last the feelings that were mutually shared. Christine did not shrink back in fear, and Erik did not withdraw from her gaze. Something had definitely changed, and the air was almost charged with electricity. Finally, Christine broke the long and palpable silence. "Erik," she whispered, "I need to tell you what is in my heart." Tears sprang to her eyes as she began to recount the events of the past two days.

"When Raoul came to take me back to his estate, I-I knew as soon as I saw him that something was _wrong_. I wasn't pleased to see him like I should have been, and when he touched me, I--" she paused, seeing Erik flinch slightly. "I felt very uncomfortable." He relaxed. "It was as if...I didn't _want_ him to touch me. On the ride home, I suddenly realized that what I felt for him wasn't the kind of love that I was _supposed_ to feel if I was going to marry him. I thought that it would take more time for me to discover what my true feelings were…but I was wrong, Erik. I don't know why I didn't see it before. I will _always_ love Raoul, as my close childhood friend, my protector of sorts, and perhaps even my "first love." But it is nothing beyond that."

Erik listened intently, scarcely believing his ears. At first, he cringed when he heard her say "protector." _**I** was supposed to be her protector, her Angel of Music…but he was forced to protect her from **me**. Then how is this now possible?_ _Could I have truly won her heart? This loathsome gargoyle with the hideous face…with all the wrong that I have done?_ He tried to prepare himself mentally, should she suddenly shatter his fantasy into pieces once more. But she continued on, and as she spoke, he began to feel an incredible swell of joy within his heart.

She unexpectedly averted her eyes from his. "I…I realized that I do not want to be the wife of someone who simply sees me as a naïve young girl who should not pursue her own dreams. I know that until now I **have** been very foolish and naïve, but…I want someone who sees me and loves me, even with my imperfections, and who believes that I could be more than I ever dreamed possible." She swallowed and met his gaze. "It was _you_, Erik. It has always been you that I have needed…and wanted. But I was too frightened to admit it to myself until now. I…I believe that I am in _love_ with you." She paused to take a breath, feeling as though the wind had suddenly rushed from her lungs. Shaking her head, she continued. "Raoul…he was very upset when I broke our engagement. And he suspects that it is because of you that I did so. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was completely true." She paused, studying his face. "But it is."

Erik reached for her and caressed the porcelain skin of her cheek. "_Christine_," he breathed, "are you _certain_ of what you feel?" His eyes were practically pleading with her to erase any doubts that he might have.

"I **am**, Erik. I…_I **love** you_," she whispered as she closed her eyes, allowing a tear to trail down her cheek.

He sighed. "Christine, look at me."

She shook her head. "I don't think I can any longer…I--"

"_Mon amour_," he spoke in a musical, alluring tone, "_look_ at me, please."

She slowly gathered enough courage to open her eyes and meet his gaze. Her stomach felt like it was doing somersaults as his eyes burned into her. "I have loved you for _ten years_, Christine. There will never be anyone else for me but you. _I love you_, with all of my heart." He raised her slightly on her knees and leaned in to her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She exhaled, at last releasing the tension of the moment. His lips traveled down to her temple, then to her cheek, as she lost herself in his embrace. He reached a hand to her auburn curls and caressed them lovingly. Suddenly, his rich and vibrant tenor filled her ears. "Slowly, _gently_, love unfurls its splendor; grasp it, _sense_ it, tremulous and tender…" He stopped and pressed his lips to her jaw, slowly, almost worshipfully, working his way down to her chin.

Christine was trembling. She was losing herself willingly and completely, for the first time, in his voice, his scent, his touch…and she felt utterly helpless in his embrace. She was frightened and excited at the same time, and she had not felt this way since…_since the night of Don Juan…when we were last together beneath the Opera…our only kiss. Will he kiss me now? Am I truly ready for this? _Her pulse and breathing both accelerated slightly.

As if he had read her mind, Erik stopped and pulled away, gazing intently into her deep brown eyes. "_Why_, Christine? Why didn't you come to me when the boy sent you away?" he spoke softly, trying to keep all bitterness from his voice.

She sighed and relaxed a little. "I thought that you would doubt my feelings…that you would believe I had come to you only because I had nowhere else to go."

He smiled slightly, his lips curving at the corners. _She knows me better than I thought_. "So instead, you made a very mature decision and secured employment for yourself," he spoke matter-of-factly.

Christine was surprised. "You—you really think that it was a mature decision?" she asked him, sounding much like a little girl again.

Erik laughed. "Yes, _mon amour_. Very mature. Though you have far too much talent to be _wasting_ it in a seamstress shop…" he paused, noticing the look of disdain on her face. "However, I am aware that I have _quite_ ruined your chances of ever earning a living as a singer in this unforgiving city again." He grinned, and she raised an eyebrow at him. "And I knew that the costume seamstress had been giving you lessons."

Her jaw dropped at first, and then she laughed. "I don't know why I am surprised. After all, you likely knew everything that happened at the Populaire."

"They didn't call me the Opera Ghost without cause, ma cherie." He smiled a cocky smile.

After Erik and Christine had spoken for a few more moments, they noticed the mess of food on the rug. "I suppose I had better clean this up before Father Michel sees it," Christine smiled sheepishly.

"Let me help you," Erik replied, moving from his chair to assist in the process.

Christine was trying to find every last crumb when a thought dawned on her. "Erik…you are so very different now than you were at the Opera. You seem so much more…_peaceful_ to me somehow."

He chuckled. "I'm afraid that I can't take any of the credit for the changes you see in me, Christine." His expression turned serious. "The credit belongs to the Lord. I…I had an _encounter_ with Him, an experience like none I have ever had before. And He has forgiven me for all of my past sins. It is because of Him that my heart has changed. He showed me that He loves me, despite my past. And He has a plan for my life…so I **refuse** to spend another day wallowing in those wasted years. I want to move forward and become the man that He has always meant for me to be…to do whatever He would have me to do. After all, He was the One who preserved my life from the very beginning." He blinked back tears.

Christine's eyes grew watery again, as she lightly brushed his cheek with her fingers. "You are _beautiful_, Erik, _mon amour_."

Erik's voice broke slightly. "Thank you, Christine. I don't know how you can see me that way, but I…I am humbled. And you have **always** been beautiful to me, mon ange."

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_What have I done?_ he questioned himself, in utter anguish. _I let her go without a word of protest!_ Raoul had eaten his supper in silence, picking at his food, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life. _All I did was love her. I saved her from that **monster**! How could she just leave me like this, after all I did for her? After all that I had promised her?_ He held his head in his hands and sighed deeply.

The butler entered the dining room unexpectedly. "Monsieur le Viscomte?"

Raoul jerked. "Uh…yes, Francois?"

"One of the maids found this in a bedroom upstairs. It is addressed to you."

"Oh," Raoul replied, surprised. He took the envelope from the butler. "Thank you," he nodded. He tore open the envelope and recognized Christine's handwriting.

"_Dearest Raoul… I need to find out who I really am…you have always been a good friend to me…." _He sighed and tossed the letter on the table before him. _How could I have been blind to this? Did she purposely deceive me? No…no, she simply wouldn't. She **couldn't**. Not Christine…she is too innocent, too pure to do such a thing. Perhaps she truly meant what she said…that she came to me out of fear. A **good friend**, she calls me…but I **know** that there must have been more to it than that! It is possible that she is simply…confused. Surely I spoke of marriage too soon after her ordeal, and I brought this upon myself. _He passed a hand through his hair and tried to formulate some sort of plan in his mind. After some time, he summoned Francois again.

"Please speak to my carriage driver, Francois. I would like to know where he took Mademoiselle Daae this morning."

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Christine glanced suddenly at the clock on the mantle. "Oh my goodness! It's later than I thought! I must be getting back to the shop…I am expected for work in the morning."

Erik threw caution to the wind. He grabbed her hand impulsively, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Stay with _me_, Christine. I…I can sleep on the settee, really, I don't mind."

Christine blushed. "Erik, that simply wouldn't be…**proper**!" She giggled and felt very much like a child at that moment. She tried to regain her womanly composure. "I…I mean, what would people say?" She looked at him, her eyes widened into a horrified expression.

"Ah, mon ange, you forget that I have never cared for the opinions of society." He laughed darkly. "After all, it was society that shunned me because of my appearance."

"I know," she replied softly, almost embarrassed. "I just…I don't know if I could--"

Erik sighed heavily. "You would rather not have your reputation ruined further…I understand." Though in his mind, he was cursing society and all of its rules and views of propriety.

Christine laughed softly. "No, Erik…that isn't the problem." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I cannot…_trust_ myself when I am with you." Her face flushed, and she bowed her head.

Erik was stunned. "You-you mean that you…that I…" He gulped. "_Christine_…" he breathed, feeling astonished and aroused at the same time. "I…I had no idea that _you_…felt that way." He turned her chin up to face him.

She opened her eyes and gazed into his. "How could you _not_ know…the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_, when we…when we sang together on the stage?"

His eyes widened in shock. "After I threatened the boy, you said that you _hated_ me, Christine. I thought then that your emotions on the stage had been an act, albeit a very _good_ one."

"Oh, Erik, **no**! I…you…you touched me on the stage that night, and I--" her voice lowered to a whisper. "I felt like I was on _fire_. It frightened me, because I didn't know what I was feeling inside. You did something to me that…_no_ man has ever done." She placed her hand on her forehead, covering her eyes, embarrassed. "I can't _believe_ that I just told you that."

He removed her hand from her forehead. "Oh, Christine. You do not ever have to feel ashamed to be honest with me." He smiled, his lips curving upward in a rather seductive fashion. "Would it surprise you to know that I cannot trust myself to remain a gentleman when I am in _your_ presence?"

Christine felt heat growing in her belly, and it startled her. "I—no, I…don't even know what to _say_ to that, Erik!" She laughed nervously and pulled away from him. "I think that perhaps we should not discuss this any further."

Erik could see that her longing for him was growing, and it felt empowering. Her face was reddening in the light of the fire, and her eyes were glazed with desire. He prayed for the strength to stop immediately, and he was relieved when that strength seemed to materialize from thin air. "Well," he said, straightening, "I suppose that I should take you back to the shop, then. Unless you would prefer to walk the distance, alone, in the dark?" he smiled at her teasingly, and she playfully slapped his arm. "Don't you think I know that my _Angel_ would never allow me to walk that distance alone late at night?" She stood to her feet and smoothed out her dress as Erik stood, his imposing form towering over her petite frame.

He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "You are correct, mon ange. I will never let you out of my sight again." He placed a lingering kiss to her forehead, sending fire through her blood. "Now, we should allow Father Michel to have access to his study again, shouldn't we?" he chuckled. "One can only spend so much time in that tiny kitchen."

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**A/N:** Thanks to my reviewers! Drop me short note if you can! My stats have come back up, but they're all out of whack. -sigh- Oh, well. That's life, I suppose! Thanks also to ALL of you who are "lurking" but not reviewing. I appreciate you, too…and I hope that this story is an enjoyable one for you! –hugs-


	29. Chapter 29

_Disclaimer: -sigh- I only own a few li'l characters here, but nothing directly related to Phantom. Shucks! _

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

"Monsieur le Viscomte," Francois bowed. "I have news of Mademoiselle Daae as you requested."

Raoul stood from his desk chair with an expectant air. "And what news is that?"

"She was taken to a small seamstress shop in Paris, according to the driver. He is willing to take you there on the morrow, if you wish."

"A seamstress shop?" Raoul repeated, surprised. "What on earth would she be doing at a place like that?" He rubbed his slightly stubbled chin as if lost in thought. "Thank you, Francois. Please tell my driver that I shall be going there in the morning. That will be all."

"Yes, Viscomte," Francois bowed and left the room.

Raoul walked to the window of his study, gazing absently at the stars in the night sky. "Christine…" he sighed. "I must have you back in my life. I _must_."

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Erik and Christine thanked Father Michel for his hospitality. "I don't know what you mean," the old priest chuckled. "I didn't do anything at all." He feigned a look of innocence for a moment and then burst into laughter.

Erik smiled and patted him on the back. "Yes, well…you've apparently been a friend to _both_ of us in our times of need. And you have helped us more than you know," he winked.

Christine smiled and couldn't resist hugging the old man's neck and pecking him on his cheek. "Thank you, Father. I will see you soon." Father Michel blushed profusely and laughed. "My goodness, Mademoiselle, you certainly are a most sweet and thoughtful young lady. Take good care of her, my boy," he winked, glancing at Erik.

Erik nodded and pulled the cowl of his cloak up over his head. "Keep the wine, Father," he said. "Perhaps we will make use of it on another one of my visits." He put his arm around Christine's shoulders and they stepped out the doors into the night air.

"I need to hail a cab for us," he said. "I came by way of the Laurent carriage, but I sent it back, not knowing how long I would be visiting." Christine nodded, gazing up at his face, partially shadowed by his cloak. Her body quivered with excitement, as if anticipating something wonderful, and she had no idea why. She had forgotten that Erik always made her feel that way. Suddenly, she was emboldened and wrapped one of her arms around his waist. He gasped and turned to look down at her. She smiled up at him, and he squeezed her shoulders more tightly with his one arm. He tenderly brushed a stray curl away from her face with his free hand, and turned from her as he heard a cab approaching. He hailed it and was going to direct the driver to the seamstress shop, but he suddenly realized that he had no idea of its location. He glanced down at Christine, and she seemed to understand his hesitation. She smiled up at the driver, giving him the address, as Erik placed his hand on the small of her back to help her inside, making certain that the driver could not see his masked face.

Christine seated herself on one side of the cab and gingerly arranged her dress around her. Erik climbed in after her and closed the door, settling himself on the opposite seat. The cab jerked to a start, and Christine's hand shot out to the seat next to her to steady herself. Erik smiled at her. They did not speak for a few moments, content to gaze at each other in wonder. Finally, Erik cleared his throat. "Christine, may…may I see you again?"

She laughed. "Of course, Erik! If you didn't, I don't know what I would do," she smiled tenderly, reaching out to hold his hand. As she looked down at his hands, a thought came to her. "I remember the first time you held my hand, Erik." He raised an eyebrow quizzically. She laughed. "Do you know when it was?"

"I believe that it was the night that I came for you…through your dressing room mirror, was it not?"

"No, that isn't what I mean. I mean…you always wore those black gloves…until the night of your opera." She shyly looked away.

Erik grinned slyly. "I do believe that I did more than simply 'hold your hand' that night, mon ange."

She looked into his eyes, her voice sounding low and seductive. "Yes, you did…and I have yearned in my dreams for you to touch me that way again." Her lips were parted and they were a delicate shade of pink in the dim light of the cab. Erik inhaled audibly through his nostrils. He watched her eyes as they searched his face for a response. He lifted off of his seat, moving to rest beside her. She was constantly in awe of the grace in each of his movements.

"_Christine_," he breathed, as he turned her to face him, and drew his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. "You are so very _beautiful_," he whispered, lowering his mouth at last to claim hers in a tender kiss. He had waited for this moment for what seemed an eternity—to taste her again, to feel the warmth of her mouth on his own. She melted into him and moaned delicately in her throat. He felt passion surging through his veins at the sound, and he pressed his mouth to hers with greater fervency. He wanted more…he wanted to be closer, yet he felt that he would never be close enough. He felt her breathing begin to quicken, and he tightened his arm around her waist. As he weaved his free hand through her thick curls, tilting her head back slightly to allow him greater access to her, Christine felt a strange yearning growing in her belly. She pressed herself into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their pace was becoming frantic, and a warning sounded in Erik's mind. He slowed his movements and pulled back from the kiss, resting his forehead on Christine's. "_Mon amour_," he whispered breathlessly, "I…have to stop now…for both our sakes."

Christine closed her eyes and was relieved when he did not pull away from their embrace. "I love you so much, my beautiful Angel," she whispered against his lips. "I have longed for this. I have dreamed of kissing you again ever since…that awful night." She began to tremble, and he gently drew her head down to his chest, leaning back against the wall of the cab. His heart was nearly bursting with love for her. _My angel…in my arms at last._

"I have longed for you as well, mon ange," he whispered, stroking her hair gently. "Please…let us not speak of that night any longer. As I told you before, it is time for us to begin again. I have changed since that night…as have you, Christine." He kissed the top of her head as the cab halted abruptly. "It seems that we are here already."

She sighed in frustration. "I want this night to go on forever."

He lifted her chin and she met his gaze. "Christine, I pray that we will have many more nights like this…in the future." He smiled at her, and she thought she saw his eyes beginning to moisten.

"Come, let me walk you to the door." He opened the cab door and helped her to step down. He instructed the driver to wait a moment and he turned to walk her to the back of the shop.

"Would you like to step inside…just for a moment? I want you to see where I am employed," she stated, with a hint of pride in her voice.

"Of course. I would be _honored_," he bowed. She giggled. She turned the doorknob, glad that it was still unlocked. She hoped that no one had entered the shop when she had gone…she would have felt terribly guilty if any theft had occurred.

"This is the kitchen, as you can see," she gestured in a sweeping motion. "And in here is the storefront. My room is just up those stairs to the right."

"Hmmm. Aren't you going to _show_ me your sleeping quarters?" he breathed, leaning in closer to her, grinning devilishly.

"Erik, you are _purposely_ trying to make me blush!" she exclaimed, half laughing, half gasping in surprise.

"Only because you are beautiful when you blush, mon ange."

She laughed again and hugged him around his waist. He responded by wrapping his arms about her shoulders. "I'm afraid that I must be going. I have a deadline to meet for the architects I now work for."

She beamed at him. "I should very much like to see some of your work soon, Erik."

"Of course," he smiled. "May I…visit you tomorrow evening after the shop closes?"

"Yes," she laughed softly. She felt like a giddy schoolgirl. "Where will we be going?"

"Ah, _mon amour_, you forget that I am an expert at keeping secrets," he laughed. "I will come at, shall we say, six o'clock? Perhaps we can have our supper _together_." He couldn't believe what he was saying. _We are **together** now. Thank you, Lord…You have been far too good to me…more than I will ever deserve._

"That sounds lovely," she said softly, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. He pulled her in closer and placed one hand at the base of her head, tilting her face toward him.

"Until tomorrow, then," he whispered back to her, placing a feather-light kiss upon her still swollen and slightly reddened lips. He left her wanting more, as he always had, but she simply smiled up at him and nodded. And then he was gone, out the door and disappearing into the darkness once more. Christine locked the door and shook her head, turning toward the stairs. _In many ways, my darling Erik, you are still a Phantom_, she chuckled to herself.

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Christine was awakened by the sound of a harsh rapping on her door. Madame Dubois' voice was somewhat muffled as she called to her. "Seven o' clock, Mademoiselle! Time to wake up!"

She stretched like a cat and yawned. Opening her eyes, she stared at the blank, yellow-tinged ceiling. She smiled at the memory of Erik's kisses and caresses the night before. _Can this really be happening?_ she marveled. _Is it all just a beautiful dream? _She quickly dressed, wishing that she could soak in a hot bath. Her neck and shoulders ached slightly from sitting hunched over the sewing machine for hours the previous day. She pulled her hair back from her face and secured it, allowing the remainder to fall loosely around her shoulders. Glancing around the small room, she sighed. _Perhaps one day soon I will be able to afford a small flat of my own._ She was encouraged at the thought, and stepped out into the hallway, descending the steep stairs.

Madame Dubois glanced up at her as she entered the kitchen. "So, Christine, how was your first night here?" The older woman looked at her smugly, knowing that the room was nothing more than a tiny hole with a creaky bed. "It was just fine, thank you, Madame. I slept very soundly." She smiled, and Madame Dubois' jaw dropped slightly. "I-I'm afraid that my stomach is demanding breakfast of some sort. You wouldn't perhaps have some croissants and jam here, would you?"

Madame Dubois laughed mockingly. "What do you think this is, dearie, an inn? There's a bakery up the street a few blocks, if you want breakfast. We'll open the doors at eight o'clock, so be back by then."

Christine stared at her, surprised at her tone. "M-Madame, I didn't mean to offend you…I apologize. I am very grateful for the room. But…I'm afraid that I don't have any money to buy my breakfast." She looked away, feeling rather helpless at that moment.

"Oh, alright, then. Don't go around looking like a dog that's lost his bone! I'll give you a small advance on your wages so that you can have your breakfast," Madame winked at Christine. "Here. Should be more than enough." She handed her some money and Christine looked at her curiously. _This woman certainly does keep me guessing! _

"Well, what are you waiting for? You'd best hurry off now or you'll be late getting back."

Christine thanked her and threw her shawl over her shoulders, scurrying out the back door and in the direction that Madame Dubois had instructed her. She came back fifteen minutes later, carrying a sack with two croissants and a sweet roll. She slipped around to the back and walked into the kitchen. Madame Dubois raised her eyebrows when she saw Christine's purchases. "Hungry, are we?" she laughed.

"I…I thought perhaps I could save some…for my lunch," she blushed, embarrassed. "I felt badly that you had to share your food with me yesterday, Madame."

Madame Dubois softened. "Nonsense, Christine. The food here in the kitchen is for those who work here. And that now includes you," she winked. "Now, hurry up and eat. I have a few different things that need to be attended to today."

Christine eagerly bit into the sweet roll, savoring each delectable bite. She licked the icing off of her fingers as she had since she was a child. She retrieved some milk that was in the kitchen, sniffing it first to make certain that it wasn't spoiled. She drank it down and closed her eyes, trying to mentally prepare herself for the day ahead. "Lord," she whispered, "help me through this. I am so unsure of myself here…and I have so much to learn."

She was lost in thought as she heard Madame Dubois cutting strips of fabric in the storefront. Neither one of them noticed the black carriage with the gold crest on the door that had parked in front of the shop.

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**A/N: **Thank you to all who reviewed! Hey, now that I have my stats back, I can see that a lot of you have read the last couple of chapters but haven't dropped me a line! C'mon! Feedback is always nice. And I don't bite...really! -chuckles-


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty**

Raoul stepped from the carriage, glancing at his pocket watch. _Ten minutes until eight. I wonder if she is here right now. _ He clutched a large bouquet of flowers in his left hand, an array of white and yellow roses intertwined with baby's breath. He sharply exhaled and marched steadily toward the small shop.

Madame Dubois was a bit startled when there was a loud rapping at the storefront door, and she turned to Christine, smirking. "Too high and mighty to wait until the start of the business day, I suppose." She strode toward the door, fully intending to cast an evil eye upon whomever would dare to be so inconsiderate. She flung the door open, the wind from the motion causing several tendrils of her hair to fly into her face. She was stunned to find a well-dressed gentleman standing there, holding flowers in his hand. _What the devil?_ She tried to erase the shock from her face and instead chose to glare at him. "Monsieur, I'm afraid that we do not open for another ten minutes. Can your business not wait until then?"

Raoul's eyes grew wide as he took in the older woman's petite and slightly haggard form. "I'm…I'm so sorry, Madame…I was hoping that I might find a particular young lady here…a Mademoiselle Daae." He bowed slightly, a polite gesture that had been drilled into him from the time he had first learned to walk.

Madame Dubois narrowed her eyes. "And who might yoube, Monsieur? What business would someone like _you_ have with Mademoiselle Daae?"

Raoul cleared his throat and tried to keep a civil tone. "Madame, my name is Raoul de Chagny, and I am a longtime friend of Mademoiselle Daae. Now, please, if she is here, would you see if I might have a word with her?"

"D-de Chagny, you say?" She muttered to herself, as if processing the information. "You're…you're not the Viscomte de Chagny, are you?"

Raoul stifled a grin. "Yes, Madame."

"Oh. Oh, my! Forgive me, Viscomte. I-I had no idea. Uh…won't you please come inside?" She stepped to the side and gestured with her arm for him to enter. He smiled and stepped around her, a look of slight amusement on his face. His smile faded quickly when he caught sight of a young woman sitting in the kitchen, her face just slightly out of view. _I would know those auburn curls anywhere. _"Madame," he spoke softly and gestured with his arm toward the kitchen, "may I?"

Madame Dubois attempted to act the part of the lady that she clearly was not. "Oh, yes, of course, Monsieur Viscomte." She curtsied and smiled at Raoul. He nearly chuckled, but retained his composure skillfully. "Thank you, Madame." He stepped around her and made his way to the kitchen entrance. Christine had just taken another sip of milk when she caught sight of him in the doorway and nearly choked.

"R-Raoul," she coughed. "What-what on earth are you _doing_ here?"

"My driver was kind enough to let me know where he had taken you. I wanted to come by and speak with you." His formal tone suddenly became desperate. "Christine, I have missed you every moment since you left. I--"

"Pardon me for saying so, _Viscomte_," she interrupted, setting her milk on the table abruptly, "but I believe that you _sent _me away. It was not my choice to leave in such a manner." She folded her arms across her chest and stared at him coldly. In her heart, she held some resentment toward her childhood friend for the way he had so coldly dismissed her. However, she knew that he was likely acting out of extreme pain.

"Christine," Raoul replied, bending before her on one knee, "I beg of you, please forgive me for my actions. I was not myself. I was very angry…and hurt."

Christine reached forward and tentatively laid a hand on his shoulder. "I know, Raoul, and I hated to be the one to hurt you. You have been a good friend to me, and I pray that you will find happiness in your life."

Raoul gently handed her the flowers that he had brought. She smiled and placed them on the table beside her. "Thank you…they are lovely," she smiled. "But I cannot--"

"No, darling, please just listen." Christine felt a bit uncomfortable with his use of such an intimate term with her again, though she didn't understand why…they had only been parted for a day. Still, it sounded so dreadfully out of place. Raoul continued, gazing pleadingly into her eyes. "I have been a _fool_, Christine. I was a fool to send you away, and I was a fool to give you up without a fight," he said firmly. "I have come to ask you to take me back, ma cherie. I _know_ that I can make you happy if you will allow it. I wish for nothing more than the chance to be a loving husband to you and give you all the things that you could ever desire." He smiled and reached out to caress her cheek. She drew back from his touch and tears began to fill her eyes.

"Oh, my sweet Raoul, please do not put me through this again. I cannot bear it!" She began to cry quietly, and he reached forward to grasp both of her hands.

"Christine, I know that you love me! Somewhere in your heart, I _know_ that you do! I could feel it in your embrace…in your sweet, warm kisses…" Christine looked at him and blushed. "And you told me of your love that night…that awful night when that monster almost stole **everything** from us!" His face turned red at this last thought, and a few veins began to bulge in his neck. Christine had never seen him quite so angry before.

She sniffled. "I do love you, Raoul, and I always will. It's…it's just that there was something…missing between us. I can't even explain it. I have loved you for many years, as a friend and as the brother that I never had. When you came back into my life, I was overjoyed! But I was foolish, and I did not know the truth that was in my own heart. I fought it, and tried to convince myself that what I really wanted was the life that you had to offer…that what I wanted was to share each day with you, in your embrace."

"You cannot tell me that you did not love me as you would love a husband. Christine, there were those few times when we--" He dropped his voice to a whisper, then, so that the prying ears in the next room would not overhear. "--when we shared some fairly intimate moments."

Christine blushed furiously, and she shook her head, averting her eyes from his. "Raoul, could you not see it, even then? Could you not see my guilt from allowing you to touch me…in such a manner?"

"Yes, darling, I saw your hesitation, but I assumed that it was a natural thing that all young women experience when placed in…that sort of position." He smiled. "I loved your modesty, Christine. Truthfully, I…I wanted more from you, even then, but I was willing to wait, to keep your purity intact, until our wedding night. And I am still willing to wait, my love."

"Raoul, please…I am not at all comfortable speaking about this! My guilt was not only because of my modesty or purity. It…it was also because…" she paused, searching for the right words to say, and closed her eyes. "It was also because of the truth I did not want to face--that my heart had belonged to another for many years, Raoul. While you were living the life of an aristocrat, I was a miserable chorus girl in an opera house, and you had forgotten about me until the night of _Hannibal_. You didn't even notice me the day you first came to the Populaire. I was just a dancer then, not a prima donna. But when you heard me sing that night, it was _then_ that you chose to pursue me. But there was another who loved me before I was even a dancer. He loved me before I was a prima donna…and in fact, without him, I would never have _been_ a prima donna! Where were _you _all those years, Raoul? Where were you when I needed comfort from the loss of my sweet Father, when I cried myself to sleep every night and prayed that God would bring him back to me? **Where**, Raoul?" Her voice was growing louder and higher in pitch the longer she went on. "You weren't _there_ for me! And yet all the while, I had an Angel who was truly sent to me from Heaven, who comforted me and watched over me while I slept, who helped me to become more than I ever _dreamed_ I could be!"

Raoul sat before her, completely speechless and stunned. His mouth hung open slightly, and he couldn't believe that his sweet Christine was nearly shrieking at him in such an accusatory tone. She went on, much to his dismay. "When you came to my dressing room that first night, you came to me as if you had never left my life. You began to tell me what to believe and how to act, and where to go…as if you simply had the _right_ to do so…and I didn't even realize it until this very moment. Has there ever been anything that you have been denied in your life, Raoul de Chagny? _Anything?_"

He finally found his voice, and regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. "_You_, Christine! I have been denied the peace and pleasure of a life with the only woman that I have ever loved! And it is all because of a sick, twisted **monster** with _half a face_!" He gasped when Christine's small hand struck him hard across his cheek.

"You will not speak of him in that way _ever again_!" she hissed at him, her eyes glowing fiercely. "He is a man, Raoul! A _man_! You do not know why he has been afflicted with his face, nor do you know the pain that he has suffered _because_ of it! And if you are so clearly lacking in compassion, then perhaps it is **you** who is the monster!"

"_Compassion_?" he huffed. "Compassion for a man who has likely taken so many lives that he has lost _count_? Compassion for a man who almost added me to that number and stole you from me? How could you ever expect it from me, Christine!" His face was twisted into an angry sneer.

Christine's expression went from enraged to coldly bitter in seconds. "There it is. You have said it yourself. You believe that he nearly stole me away from you. _Stole!_ As if I am one of your prized possessions who needs to be kept under lock and key! I feel as though you've never treated me as a **person**, Raoul! I have dreams as well, and I wish to pursue them! And you have _never_ understood that."

"Christine, that simply isn't true," he replied, becoming a bit less agitated. "I admire your dreams and talents, but it is simply not fitting for the wife of a Viscomte to--"

"Yes, I _know_," she interrupted again. "In order to marry you, I would have to keep my singing to a minimum, and dancing would be nonexistent. My life on the stage would effectively be over, if it isn't already. I want the life of a married woman, Raoul, but I also want to have a husband who would support me no matter _what_ I did."

Raoul opened and closed his mouth, not knowing what to say, and looking a bit like a codfish. _Can I honestly say that I would support her in any endeavor?_ He sighed. "Christine, to live the life of aristocracy means that sometimes you must sacrifice certain dreams for the sake of propriety."

She looked at him with a small amount of sympathy. "Perhaps then, I am not willing to make such a sacrifice. All of this horror that has happened in the past two weeks has forced me to take a long look at my own heart and my own dreams and desires. You were willing to sacrifice 'propriety' in order to make me your wife, Raoul. But you are a _man_, and I am a woman. And such luxuries are not afforded to women."

He could not argue with her logic, and he was caught off guard by the maturity that seemed to flow from her words. Madame Dubois stepped to the door of the kitchen. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Monsieur le Viscomte, but we are about to open and I must instruct Mademoiselle Daae in her duties for the day." She curtsied again, and Raoul nodded. He turned to Christine and smiled slightly, amused at Madame Dubois' completely insincere display of gentility. Christine simply stared at him, arms folded in front of her again. "Darling, would you grant me the privilege of escorting you to dinner this evening? I wish to discuss these things further with you. Please, give me another chance." He reached up to touch her face, and again she pulled away.

"I-I can't go with you tonight, Raoul. I have made…other plans." She suddenly grew very nervous and cast her eyes downward. "I'm sorry."

He gave her an inquisitive look. "Plans? With whom, may I ask?"

"Yes, plans, and no, you may not ask with whom, as I am no longer your fiancée," she remarked coldly, immediately wishing that she had been less blunt with him.

His face turned ashen. "It's with **him**, isn't it? _Merde_, Christine! How in the hell can you be so foolish, after everything he put you through? He is a wanted **murderer**! He should be locked up for what he has done, don't you **understand**?" Raoul felt guilty for using such language in her presence, but he could not contain his shock and anger.

She stood from her chair abruptly, glaring down at him and nearly knocking him backwards. Raoul stared up at her, thinking that she looked very much like a woman full of fire and fury. "This conversation is over. If you will excuse me…" she remarked coldly, stepping around him toward the door.

"Christine, wait!" he exclaimed. "I…I think that you owe me at least one more chance to plead my case. Please, allow me to take you to dinner another evening. Forgive me…I did not mean to anger you." He looked pleadingly into her fiery brown eyes, and she softened a bit. "I-I don't know, Raoul. It would likely serve no purpose but to prolong the inevitable."

"I just want to understand your perspective, my love. I want to hear all of your feelings…_please_."

She sighed in frustration, turning to leave the room. She replied, speaking slightly over her shoulder at him. "I'm sorry, I…I have to go to work." She walked to the storefront and he was left alone in the kitchen, still kneeling. _Look at me_, he thought woefully. _Look at what I have been reduced to because of **him**!_ He stood, brushing off his trousers, and straightened. Stepping into the storefront room, he bowed to the ladies as they were discussing the work for the day. "Madame, Mademoiselle, good day to you both." He exited the front door and Christine slumped at the sewing machine, relaxing at last.

"What was _that_ all about, dearie?" Madame Dubois asked her, raising both eyebrows expectantly.

Christine knew that she had heard much of the conversation, and she glanced at Madame Dubois sideways, smirking. "Nothing, Madame. Everything is fine."

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**A/N:** Okay, the confrontation has ended. Or **_has_** it? -chuckles- Well, I have to make sure you all keep reading, don't I? I'm going to have to come clean right now and say that Raoul isn't my favorite person. A nice guy, but I don't really like him all that much! This chapter was a "vent" for _me_ as well as Christine! -sigh- Well, now, I'm glad I got that off my chest! Thanks again for the reviews. Cookies to my reviewers! (Or, if you'd rather…Erik smooches!) Tee hee!


	31. Chapter 31

_Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom. –sigh- But if anyone's doing holiday shopping, pick me up my very own Erik, will you? It would make me a very happy authoress! LOL_

** Chapter Thirty-One**

Raoul stepped into the waiting carriage and fumed inwardly. His exterior displayed the cool aloofness of nobility, yet he felt like a desperate man within. _I **must **win her back_, he thought frantically. _**How? ** How am I to do this, when that **monster** has such a tight hold on her mind? He is nothing more than a devilish hypnotist, using his tricks on a poor, unwitting young woman. She **cannot** truly mean what she speaks! _Gradually on the ride home, a plan began to form in his mind…one of which he was not entirely proud.

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Christine wiped the light smattering of perspiration from her brow and glanced at the clock near her._ Only one hour until closing…and Erik will arrive in two hours! _She felt giddy with anticipation, and the next hour passed rather quickly. She could practically feel Erik's arms around her as she distracted herself with thoughts of their previous evening together.

Madame Dubois was obviously feeling some guilt from leaving Christine with a very meager portion of food the previous night, because she had offered to purchase some items to fill the pantry the next day. "Will you be alright until tomorrow when I bring the food here?" Madame Dubois asked, clearly concerned. Christine smiled. "Yes, of course. As you said, I don't require a large amount of food each day." She knew that she would not have to worry about supper that evening, because Erik had suggested that they dine together. She nearly trembled with anticipation to see him again. _Good Lord_, she thought. _I cannot believe that I ever thought I was in love with Raoul…clearly, Erik is the only man who makes me feel this way!_

Madame Dubois locked up the shop and exited the back door, instructing Christine to lock it behind her. She did so, and ran up the steep stairs to choose a frock for her evening with Erik. She had hung several dresses in the tiny closet near one corner of the room, hoping that most of the wrinkles would fall out on their own. She found one that was cornflower blue, with a slightly lower neckline than the others. It had a narrow border of lace around the neckline, and the sleeves were long, with the same lace border at the cuffs. She reached into one of her pieces of luggage and produced a string of faux pearls. She quickly changed out of her work clothes, slipping the dress over her chemise and corset. The dress buttoned up the back, however, and she immediately found herself wishing Helene were there. She could not reach the buttons between her shoulder blades and had thoughts of changing into a completely different frock. She pinned the top half of her hair up in the back, allowing the majority of it to fall about her shoulders loosely. She was so lost in thought that she did not hear the door open behind her.

Suddenly, she sensed that she was not alone. A feeling of panic washed over her, just as she heard a voice that made stomach quiver. "Let me help you with that, mon ange." Before she knew what was happening, Erik was behind her, fastening the remaining buttons on her dress. She could feel his breath on her hair, and she closed her eyes. She was shaking, and she did not know whether it was from the fear that she had felt at first, or from the excitement that he brought to every pore of her body. "Erik," she breathed. "You startled me." She turned toward him and smiled, gazing into his deep eyes. He noticed the necklace dangling from her hand. "Allow me." She handed him the faux pearls and turned, lifting her thick mane to give him access to her neck. She felt his hands fastening the clasp at the base of her neck and his fingers traveling down to her collarbone. Slowly, he ran his hands back up to the base of her neck and down the scooped neckline at the back, tracing the lace edge with his fingertips. The sensation sent electricity through her, and she inhaled sharply.

"You look absolutely…_lovely_," he breathed, turning her around to face him. He placed a gentle, lingering kiss on her forehead, and she smiled, melting into him and letting her eyes flutter closed. He broke the close contact sooner than she would have liked and stepped back to let his eyes wander over her. "So," he managed to say, sounding a bit strained, "how was your day today?" He kissed her knuckles tenderly and smiled up at her. She couldn't remember a time when she had seen him so happy and at peace with himself, and with life. Anxiety began to course through her at the memory of Raoul's visit earlier in the day. _Should I tell him?_ she wondered. _He will be furious! What if he tries to harm Raoul again?_ She tensed visibly, and Erik's eyes searched her face with a concerned expression.

"Christine? Something is wrong…what is it? Has something happened?" He grew more agitated as she turned her back to him and bowed her head. "_Please_, Christine…what--what has _happened_?" When she didn't answer immediately, panic clutched at his chest. _She doesn't want me anymore. She's changed her mind. Oh, God, **no**! Please don't allow this to happen! I love her…I **need** her! _He clenched his jaw and grasped her upper arms firmly. "You have changed your mind about us," he spoke bitterly, in a somber tone.

Christine quickly spun around to look at him. "No, Erik! That isn't true! I _love_ you, mon ange, and I always will! It's just that…I have had a difficult day today." She cast her eyes to the floor, and he tilted her chin upward as he always did when she tried to avoid his gaze.

"Tell me," he whispered, drawing his face to within inches of hers, his eyes burning into her.

She knew then that she _could _not, and _should_ not, hide the truth from him…not if they were going to begin a new relationship and put the past behind them. She exhaled loudly and closed her eyes. "I don't want to tell you because I…I am afraid of what you might do."

He gritted his teeth. "That _boy_ came here today, didn't he?"

She nodded, her eyes still tightly shut.

He exhaled loudly through his nostrils, and fought every one of his instincts—he wanted to go after the insolent young Viscomte and make him pay dearly. _How could he dare to come here, after she had told him she no longer wanted him and he threw her out on the streets? At least **I** was willing to give her up—but this boy is so selfish that he cannot see the way he is tearing her apart! _"Christine…I don't know what to _say_."

She opened her eyes and studied his expression then, wondering if she had just heard him correctly. "Erik? You…you aren't angry?"

"Oh, I am **angry**, Christine," he laughed darkly, "but not with you. I don't understand how that boy would ever dare to face you again after the way he cast you aside!"

"He was angry and hurt, Erik. You of all people should know that such strong emotions can make a person act…in _irrational_ ways." She glanced down to his chest and back to his eyes again. Erik was staring at her with furrowed eyebrows and a slight coldness in his eyes. "I suppose you have forgiven him for his actions, then?" When she did not answer, he nodded. "Yes. You have. Very well…we all need forgiveness, do we not?" There was still a nagging question in his mind. He spoke gently and carefully. "Christine…what was it that he wanted from you?"

Tears pooled in her eyes and she bit her lip. "Another chance," she replied, closing her eyes and releasing the trails of moisture down her cheeks. Erik reached up to wipe them away. He whispered to her, hoping that it would encourage her to trust him, to let him into her heart and mind. "And…what did you tell him?"

She sniffled and blinked, gazing at him, watery-eyed. "I…I told him that I do not love him the way a wife would love a husband, and that I haven't changed my mind about breaking our engagement."

Erik sighed deeply and his shoulders sagged in relief. "I am glad to hear you say that. But do not think, _mon amour_, that he will give up so easily. What will you do if he comes back?"

She stiffened and steeled her chin. "I will refuse him. He…he begged me to go to dinner with him, and when I told him I had plans, he **knew** that it was with you! Oh, Erik! I…I didn't even want him to know that you were still living, and still here in Paris! Please forgive me, my Angel! What if your _life_ is now in danger?" Her eyes were wide with fear, and she gripped his forearms firmly.

He pulled her into an embrace, laying her head on his chest. "Mon ange, you shouldn't worry about such things. I have survived for many years here, pursued by many men. My life has _always_ been in danger, even before we first met. And now I have more reasons than ever to _live_," he smiled, burying a hand in her thick waves. "Come," he said, changing his tone to a happier one. "We have dinner plans for the evening, and I don't want to waste another moment of our precious time together."

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"Monsieur le Viscomte, there is a Monsieur Thibedeaux here to speak with you," Francois bowed.

"Thank you, Francois. Send him in."

Raoul stood and moved to the front of his desk as a tall gentleman dressed in black entered his study. "Monsieur Thibedeaux, thank you for coming so quickly."

The man extended his hand to Raoul. "Of course, Viscomte. When I heard that you were in need of my assistance, I knew that it must be for a very important reason. How may I help you?"

Raoul shifted his weight nervously. "I…need you to do some digging. I need it to be expeditious…and it could be very risky. Are you willing?"

The man smiled a ridiculously toothy grin, and it made Raoul feel uneasy, appearing more to be a sinister sneer than a smile. "Of course, Viscomte. I am the best private investigator in France...or you wouldn't have summoned me. Risks are common in my profession."

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"Don't look," Erik said, covering Christine's eyes with her hands. "No _peeking_ now, Mademoiselle," he teased. He helped her from the carriage, which she noticed had not gone far at all.

"Erik, what are you plotting?" she laughed, clearly delighted with this new, playful side of him that she had never before experienced. _There is so much good in him, Lord. He is even more beautiful to me now than he was when I thought him to be a real angel. _His hands left her shoulders, and she froze, waiting for him to return.

After a few brief moments, she felt Erik's breath on her, very close to her lips. "Everything is ready. Come, _mon amour_." She allowed him to lead her, her hands still covering her eyes, up a few steps and through a door. The smell that wafted to her nostrils was delightful, and her stomach rumbled. She licked her lips with anticipation. At last, they stopped walking and he curled his fingers over hers. "Open your eyes."

Erik brought her hands down from her face and she blinked. All she saw at first was a warm, golden glow. _Candles._ Things began to shift into focus, and she realized that she was inside the church, but it was a room that she had never seen before. "Erik? What is this place?"

"This is the place that I like to call 'the storage room.'" He chuckled heartily, and gestured around him in a sweeping motion. "I know that it isn't very _romantic_, but it is private…and there are no prying eyes to wonder about us or make us feel uncomfortable." He pulled out a chair for her and she sat, looking around the small room in amazement. Everything looked as if it had been dusted, and the four tall candelabras were lit, surrounding the small table for two near the center of the room. _This room is actually larger than my room at the shop_, she thought, laughing to herself.

There were old books lying about in tall stacks, and a wooden podium with a narrow base sat in one corner of the room. Sheets covered many of the odd shapes in the room, leaving Christine to wonder what was underneath. _Furniture? More books? What kinds of things do churches typically store in these rooms?_ She felt it strange that she had never once thought to ask such a question before. But then, she had never been a very curious child…she had been content to sing and dance, or sit with her nose in a book, but never was one to go exploring anywhere except her own attic. At least…not until Erik came into her life.

She smiled at him contentedly as he seated himself across from her. "Are you hungry, mon ange?" he asked, admiring her beauty by the glow of candlelight. "I have prepared a meal for us in the kitchen."

Christine's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, I'm famished! And you cooked for me? Erik, you always have spoiled me so…you really shouldn't do that." She shook her head at him, frowning slightly.

He chuckled. "You have not yet tasted my cooking. Perhaps you should refrain from commenting on how I 'spoil' you until then." He left the room and returned quickly with two plates of food. "It looks delicious!" she exclaimed, as he set the plate before her.

"Now…would you care for a glass of wine?"

"Wine? Oh…oh, Erik…I do not know if it will agree with me." She blushed slightly. She typically had no occasion to drink wine, so she was a bit hesitant.

"Hush now, Christine! Trust me, I will not allow you to become inebriated!" He grinned at her deviously. "Although I must say that I am curious to see how you might act if you were!"

She scowled at him, and he laughed. "Ah, you are so beautiful when you make such hideous faces, mon ange! Really, all of your acting training from the opera has prepared you well to play the part of…an _old hag_, perhaps?"

She gasped and leaned toward him, slapping him on the arm playfully. "Stop it, now. And sit down. I want to eat this wonderful dinner that you've prepared for me." She smiled at him as he poured her a small glass of wine, and then raised an eyebrow at him as he poured himself a significantly greater amount. He settled into his chair and was unfolding his napkin over his lap when Christine cleared her throat. He looked up at her and gave her a half-smile. "Yes, ma cherie, I am aware that we must first say the blessing." She smiled and bowed her head.

Erik began. "Dear Lord, I thank you this evening for the food that you have given us…but I thank you most of all for this beautiful woman who sits before me. I thank you for bringing her back to me, and for allowing me the joy that she brings to my life. In Christ's Name, Amen."

"Amen," she echoed, her eyes filling with tears again. "_I love you_," she whispered across the table.

"And I love _you_," he replied as they began to eat their meal, looking forward to an evening of simply being in each other's presence.

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**A/N:** Well, fluffity fluff fluff! Ha! I want to thank my readers and reviewers once again. Oh…and Barbara? Thank you for your concern for my health and safety! LOL You are too sweet. Well, everyone, I believe that this story just keeps stretching longer in my mind. It won't be ending anytime soon, much to my husband's chagrin. Ha ha. I am toying with a few ideas, and I hope that you will enjoy them when they come into existence on paper.


	32. Chapter 32

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom clan, I do not own them, Sam-I-Am. I do not own the lyrics here, I do not own them, have no fear! I thank the writers, yes, I do…I thank them, see? That's done now, whew!_

** Chapter Thirty-Two**

Erik and Christine had finished their supper and sat gazing at each other, holding hands across the small table. "Christine, I have been meaning…to ask you something." Erik shifted nervously in his chair, and Christine suddenly felt as though her heart had become lodged in her throat. _No…he isn't…he couldn't, yet…could he? What will I say if he asks me to marry him so soon?_ Yet she knew in her heart what her answer would be. She tried to calm her breathing, which had increased slightly in anticipation of the moment. She was both relieved and surprised when Erik's question came at last.

"Mon amour, you know that my heart belongs to you…and I know now that you love me as well. What I want to ask you is…well, what I am trying to say is…" he stammered, unsure of how to phrase his question. She squeezed his hand in reassurance. He smiled at her. "I will understand if you refuse, but I need to know…if you will allow me to court you for the purpose of…of marriage." He gulped, and thought that he had sounded entirely too formal. _I don't want to ruin everything that we are building upon…but I need to know that we are truly committed to one another_, he thought, glancing shyly at her like an anxious young schoolboy.

_I would marry him **tonight**, for heaven's sake!_ The thought of him as her husband made Christine's mouth go dry. _He is being so gentlemanly and respectful. Perhaps he wants us to start out properly this time…as a **man** and a **woman**, rather than an Angel of Music and a lost little girl._ "I would be _honored_, my beautiful Angel. I want nothing more than to become your wife one day…when God wills it." She smiled at him and he wondered if his ears had deceived him. _Did she truly say yes? She wishes to one day become my wife? **My **wife? _"Oh, my beautiful, beautiful Christine…did you just say what I think you said?" He searched her face anxiously and she laughed at his expression of disbelief.

"Erik, yes!" She smiled at him, and then shyly added, "I…I hope that it will not be a…_long_ courtship." She felt her face growing hot, and touched the back of her hand to her cheek.

Erik's stomach tensed at the thought of Christine's desire for him. _She wants a brief courtship, he thought. **Dear God**, I would marry her **tonight**! But no…she deserves something more proper. _He felt a blush upon his own cheeks, and he chuckled at himself. "Whatever you wish, mon ange. If it is a brief courtship that you desire, then you shall have it." He stood and stepped to her chair, grasping her hand gently and lifting her to stand. "Come, I want to show you something."

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"How much time do you think you'll need, Monsieur?"

"I can't say for certain, Viscomte," came the reply. "It could take quite some time, or it could be a mere handful of days. But…if I could hire a man or two to help me, then that would move the job along more quickly," he cocked his head at Raoul, hoping that he would take the hint.

"Very well. If it is more money that you need, then it can be arranged. Time is of the essence. I cannot stress this enough."

"I understand, Viscomte. I shall see to it right away," Monsieur Thibedeaux replied.

"I want every piece of information delivered to me **immediately**," Raoul emphasized. "That will be all. Francois will see you out."

The man in black practically slithered from the room and out to the foyer. Raoul sighed in relief at the man's departure. _If not for Christine, then I would want nothing to do with that dreadful man_, he thought sullenly.

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"I know she doesn't look very grand, but she has a lovely sound," Erik beamed, running his hand along the wooden top of the church organ.

Christine grinned at him. "So…you couldn't resist playing her while you were here?"

Erik sighed. "I thought that I might never play music again, after that night." He glanced at her, and her smile had faded. "But I was wrong. When I realized the truth about my past…about God's love for me, I felt _hope_ again. I have yet to compose anything new, due to the fact that I have no violin or piano at the guest house…but one day I plan to create new and beautiful scores once again." He smiled warmly at her, and took her in his arms. "Sing with me, Christine. I need you," he breathed into her hair. She closed her eyes, reveling in his touch. "What would you like to sing?" she asked timidly.

Erik slowly released her, seating himself on the bench. "Help me make the music of the night, _mon amour_," he replied breathily, a twinkle in his eye. He began to play, and she felt the music beginning to envelop her…coiling around her like a serpent, seducing her, bending her to its will. When Erik began to sing, she nearly dropped to her knees from trembling. She allowed the strong, vibrant tones to penetrate her very soul, until he paused, waiting for her to sing the next line. She swallowed hard, and began:

_Softly, deftly, music shall caress you;_

_Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you_

_Open up your mind; let your fantasies unwind_

_In this darkness that you know you cannot fight,_

_The darkness of the music of the night._

Erik joined her then:

_Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world_

_Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before_

_Let your soul take you where you long to be;_

_Only then can you belong to me…_

Christine quieted, listening to his voice, swaying slightly to the music:

_Floating, falling, sweet intoxication,_

_Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation…_

She stepped behind him, gliding her hands along both sides of his face, and leaned down to kiss the top of his head gently.

_Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in_

_To the power of the music that I write_

_The power of the music of the night_

She joined him in song once more:

You alone can make my song take flight… 

_Help me make the music of the night._

Their voices floated together in the air, fading out to a soft whisper, and he turned around on the bench to face her. He reached for her hands, pulling her down onto his lap gently, and claimed her soft lips with his own. She flung her arms around his neck and they remained locked in each other's embrace for several minutes before breaking the kiss and catching their breath.

"_I love you_," Erik said breathlessly, "and I cannot wait for the day when you become mine at last…my wife, my darling, _mon amour_…" he kissed her jaw and moved lower slowly, pressing his lips to the pulsing area on her neck. She inhaled sharply, and he withdrew, fighting every one of his natural instincts. "I…I'm sorry, Christine…I don't know what came over me. I…we…should probably go back downstairs now. It is growing late, and we both must work tomorrow."

She nodded sadly, but then added, "Erik, you have no reason to be sorry. I love you and I want to marry you as soon as it is right…because I…I want us to have _no limits_ between us."

_Does she know what she is doing to my **self control**?_ he groaned inwardly. He stood abruptly, lifting her to stand with him, and pecked her on the cheek. "I feel the same way…and now, we really should be going," he spoke hurriedly. "Let me gather up the dishes from the storage room and we will be on our way." She noticed his nervousness, and it made her smile to herself. "I'll help you," she said, following after him to clear the table.

After they had cleared the dishes, they stood in the kitchen alcove, washing their plates and glasses in the small sink, laughing and talking about both of their new jobs and about their dreams for the future. "Erik…do you want children?" she asked suddenly, nearly causing Erik to drop his wine glass and towel.

"Ch-children?" he stuttered. "Well, I…I don't suppose that I had even…_considered_ the thought before."

She stopped drying her glass and turned to look him directly in the eye. "I need to know, Erik. If we are to court with plans of eventual marriage, then I must know what your feelings are on this subject." She eyed him very seriously, and he wondered how he should answer. _Does **she** want children? Or would she simply prefer to pursue her dreams of performing instead? What can I **say** to this?_

He sighed. "Oh, Christine…I know nothing about children or babies. I do not know what kind of a father I might make. What would my child think of me, of this face? Would he fear me? Would he be frightened as all other children have been?"

She set her glass on the counter and stepped close to him, her hand on his cheek. "Erik, our children would love you…simply because you would be their father." She smiled. "How could they **not** love you? Aside from my father, you are the most wonderful man that I have ever known."

He stared at her, once again in awe of the love he saw radiating from her gaze. "Oh, mon ange, I will never, ever deserve your love." He embraced her tenderly and whispered into her ear, "If you wish, I will give you as many children as I am able…as many as the Lord chooses to give us."

She hugged him tightly around his middle. "I love you, Erik Durand. And **I** am the one who does not deserve **you**." She pulled back and smiled up at him. "You are my greatest blessing." Tears began to fill her eyes, and Erik's did the same. They stood for several moments in each other's arms, treasuring the peacefulness that surrounded them.

A noise at the alcove curtain startled them from their reverie. Father Michel stood there, blushing. "Oh, dear, I'm…I'm sorry! I thought that you both had left for the evening!"

Erik and Christine both laughed, breaking their embrace. "It's alright, Father," Erik replied lightly. "We just thought we'd take some time to clean up after our supper. Thank you for allowing us to use the church."

Father Michel waved a hand at him. "Oh, it was no bother, Erik. No bother at all." He glanced at both of them. "I-uh…heard you two singing this evening. It was quite lovely." He smiled. "Erik, I have never heard **you** sing before. Your voices are both more exquisite than any that I have heard. Perhaps one day I could convince you both to sing for Mass?"

Erik smiled. "Thank you, Father. We shall see." He laid a hand on the old priest's shoulder. "I will speak with you again soon. I need to escort Christine back to her residence now, and I have a pile of sketches looming before me at home. Good night."

"Good night, mon ami. And good night to you, Mademoiselle." Father Michel opened the front doors for them as they left. _Things seem to be going rather well_, he chuckled.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik and Christine rode back to the shop in the Laurent carriage, which Erik had received permission to use for the evening. As they sat next to each other, watching the buildings pass by, Erik wrapped one arm about her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. She closed her eyes and snuggled up to him, and he wrapped his other arm around her, placing his hand on the small of her back. He kissed her curls and pressed his cheek to the top of her head. They rode in silence for the short distance. _I don't have to prove anything to her now. I don't even have to speak…she loves me, and it feels as though our hearts are already as one. _

The carriage jerked to a halt, and he sighed deeply, continuing to hold her for a few seconds longer. She raised her head and smiled at him sleepily. "Erik? Walk me inside?"

"Of course, mon ange." He escorted her to the door and asked when he could see her again. She chuckled. "As if you need to ask, my darling. I need to see you as often as possible." She smiled and reached up, pulling his neck down towards her. She pressed her lips to his firmly, and felt his mouth open to her slightly. She was emboldened, and she slid her tongue gently into his mouth. His tongue met hers, and they melded for several seconds. Erik could feel that the kiss was growing more heated, so he gently pulled away, pressing lighter kisses to her lips and resting his forehead on hers. "Good night, _mon amour_," he breathed, as she turned to step inside the shop. She turned around again and he was already gone. She locked the door behind her and leaned her back against it, breathing rapidly. _Goodness, I don't know how long I can last before we are married! _she laughed to herself.

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**A/N: **Honestly, if it were me, I know that the waiting would be killing me! LOL

Thanks to my readers and reviewers again. I'm typing into the wee hours of the morning trying to keep up here. I'm still hoping to post a chapter a day, but with my schedule getting busier, it may drop to every couple of days soon. Bummer, I know. I'll do my best, though, I promise! Erik smooches to you all!


	33. Chapter 33

_Disclaimer and A/N:_I do not own Phantom of the Opera, as you already know. I would also like to say that I have included some history here, but as I have not yet read Susan Kay's novel (-gasp!-), nor have I finished Leroux's (-double gasp!-), it most likely won't be the same. Please try to overlook it! Thank you for your patience with me!

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

It had been five days since their romantic dinner at the church. Erik and Christine had seen each other every evening since then, spending much of their time with Father Michel, who had decided that it was high time to break open the bottle of wine that Erik had left him earlier in the week. They had also taken a ride or two around the city in the late evening. They snuggled together in the darkness of the cab, lost in each other's embrace, speaking of the future and marveling at God's goodness to both of them. During one of these occasions, Erik chose to divulge some details of his childhood to Christine. He told her about his mother's cruelty and abandonment, which led to his time with the gypsies, and about the abuses that he had endured at their hands. He told her of the nightmares that had plagued him for so long, and about God's mercy in bringing those nightmares to an end at last. Christine had responded lovingly and sympathetically, shedding many tears as he held her, revealing parts of himself that she had never known. She was even more certain of her love for him after that night, for she believed that no one else could have endured what he did and survive to become such a brilliantly talented and loving man. To her, he was a walking miracle and a true gift from God.

The Laurents had been quite surprised when Erik had regretfully declined their invitations to dinner each night, instead asking politely if he might borrow the carriage to take a trip into the city. The carriage had returned without him a few times, and he had been brought home by way of another cab. Madame Laurent had laughed when her husband grumbled about Erik's absence. "He has probably been visiting with Father Michel, mon cher," she had remarked. "After all, they have become very close, almost like father and son." Monsieur Laurent had agreed and laughed at his suspicion toward Erik, shrugging it off as his own vivid imagination running wild.

Erik had awakened early in the morning and started to work on his sketches, feeling happier than he ever had in his life. _I finally have someone to share my soul with…my innermost thoughts, my past, my present, and at last…my **future**. She is the only woman I've ever truly wanted. _

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Raoul de Chagny was expecting some information from Monsieur Thibedeaux that brilliantly sun-drenched but chilly morning. He paced the floor of his study, trying to rationalize what he knew was a betrayal of Christine's trust. He had never dared to take such desperate measures before…not for anyone. To attempt to destroy the man that she cared for so deeply could backfire on him easily. But it was a risk that he knew he had to take. _I can't let her go without a fight. She must be rid of that monster before he harms her_, he told himself, rather unconvincingly. He knew in his heart that this man, the Phantom, loved Christine far too much to ever hurt her--if he had wished to do so, he would have done it the night of his dreadful opera. Instead, all he had wanted was for her to choose to stay with him. Raoul tried to clear the sympathetic thoughts from his mind, reminding himself that this Phantom was a murderer who had eluded justice for too long. Emotion and logic wrestled one another in his mind, until there was a sudden knock on the door.

"Come in."

Francois entered, bowing. "Monsieur le Viscomte, Monsieur Thibedeaux has arrived. Shall I send him in?"

Raoul sighed and strode behind his large mahogany desk, seating himself in the leather chair. "Yes, Francois. And please send Ingrid in with some coffee for us, if you would."

"Right away, Viscomte."

Raoul straightened his jacket and smoothed his hair behind his ears. Monsieur Thibedeaux entered the room swiftly and noiselessly. "Viscomte, it is good to see you again."

"Thank you. Won't you sit down?" Raoul motioned to the chairs across from his desk, and the black-clad man seated himself in one. He smiled smugly at Raoul, and produced a large, thick envelope from his cloak.

"I believe you will be pleased with the information that my associates and I have worked so tirelessly and quickly to find," the man grinned toothily.

Raoul reached for the envelope. "Let's have it, then," he barked impatiently.

Monsieur Thibedeaux recoiled, grasping the envelope firmly. "Viscomte, this information is very valuable. It took some doing to get it all as quickly as you desired, and many of our contacts in foreign countries also became involved in this investigation on your behalf."

The young Viscomte leaned forward in his chair, bringing his fingertips together before his chin. "And I have paid you well for it, Monsieur. I do hope that you are not reconsidering our agreement." Raoul's expression darkened, but the dark man's piercing eyes never left his.

"Your payment was nowhere _near _equivalent to our expenses, I'm afraid. I will need several thousand more francs, Monsieur le Viscomte." His face was emotionless, and Raoul could tell that this was not the first time the man had preyed upon a client…but Raoul was just desperate enough to give in to his demands.

"Very well," he replied. "You shall have your money, _if_ I deem the information as valuable as you say."

The sinister-looking man nodded, adjusting his wire-rimmed spectacles, and handed the envelope to him. Raoul opened it and pulled out a stack of papers that he knew he would never have time to read. "Tell me what the documents are," he stated firmly.

Just then, there was another knock at the door. "Come in, Ingrid," Raoul replied, quickly altering his tone of voice. The older woman quietly entered, setting cups before each of the men and pouring the rich, black coffee. Both men refused the cream and sugar. She bowed and left the room without a single word.

Monsieur Thibedeaux began at last. "Those documents on top show that the gentleman in question was born near Rouen. Apparently, he was born to an unknown young woman who had participated in a brief affair with an older, wealthier gentleman whose identity is also unknown. The young child was not seen again in that area after the time he would have been about seven or eight years of age."

Raoul stared at the papers. "These…the dates here would place this man…around _thirty-six years of age_," he remarked incredulously. He had never really tried to estimate the Phantom's age before, but he certainly wouldn't have guessed him to be near forty. _He moves as swiftly and silently as a cat stalking its prey…for a man of his age, that is impressive_, he thought, with a small amount of admiration. Then he came to his senses again. _Admiration? Oh, yes. What an **upstanding example** he is!_

"Hmmm, yes," Monsieur Thibedeaux replied flatly. "The other documents…yes, those there, underneath…those are proof that the same boy became a sort of…carnival performer, with gypsies. They called him "The Devil's Child." Apparently, he had some sort of facial ugliness that everyone found repulsive."

_How well I understand_, Raoul thought to himself. "And these here?"

The man chuckled. "Oh, dear Viscomte, that is the _best part_! You see, after he escaped from the gypsies, he disappeared for a number of years, his location unknown, until he surfaced again in a few different locations…India, Persia--"

"_Persia?_" Raoul interrupted. "What was he doing _there_?"

"Many things, Viscomte." The man's dark expression took on an even more menacing appearance. He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "Apparently he was a bit of a…_renaissance man_, if you will." He laughed darkly. "He _entertained_ the Shah of Persia."

"_Entertained?_ What are you talking about, man? Come now, out with it! I do not have time for these games!" Raoul was certain that he disliked the man, and was frustrated by the way he was over-dramatizing the findings of his investigation.

"The form of entertainment was not one that people here in France would enjoy, I'm sure," he sneered. "This man was a magician, as well as an _assassin._ Not only that, but a man who knew ways to…make the deaths of men much more _painful_ than they needed to be."

Raoul frowned at the man at first, trying to process the information. _Magician? Yes, Madame Giry spoke to me of that. But…an assassin? Making deaths more **painful**? _Finally, after several seconds of silence, the reality settled in Raoul's mind. "He…he was a man who…_tortured_ people?"

Monsieur Thibedeaux sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Well, it has finally become clear to you, has it? Yes. He was a torture _expert_…very good at it. He designed creative ways of killing people…for the entertainment of those in the palace."

_Good Lord!_ Raoul couldn't believe what he was hearing. He sat in stunned silence, staring down at the pile of papers in his hands. _This…this man…this thing—he isn't even **human**! He has hurt and killed many people in gruesome ways! Oh, Dear God! What if he were to harm Christine? I would never forgive myself. I must tell her of this…but how? _ "Thank you, Monsieur. This information has been most…_helpful_, although rather disturbing." He opened his desk drawer and pulled out several bills, counting them out and handing them to the dubious man before him. "This should be enough, I would think."

Monsieur Thibedeaux fingered the money greedily. "Yes, Viscomte. Thank you. It has been a pleasure doing business with you. If you should need my assistance again, please do not hesitate to ask." He paused for a moment and then added, "May I ask what your relationship with this man is, Viscomte? You seemed to be in quite a hurry to get all of the details…it seems that this is more of a _personal_ nature rather than business, am I correct?" He looked like the proverbial cat that ate the canary.

Raoul glared at the man. "You _may_ ask, but I will not give an answer, Monsieur. Good day to you," he spoke sharply. The man nodded and turned, slipping out as quietly as he had come, leaving Raoul alone again with his thoughts. _Now that I know these things, what on earth am I to do? No…I must use this information. This monster must be brought to justice for all that he has done! _ He tried to convince himself that this was his true motivation, but his heart knew better…he wanted to get Christine back—at any cost.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine sat in the storefront room at the sewing machine while Madame Dubois stood at the large table cutting fabric. It was nearly noon and she hoped that the older woman would allow her to have a longer break for lunch. "Madame, I was wondering," Christine began, "if I might walk to the café on the corner for lunch today."

Madame Dubois raised an eyebrow at her. "Meeting someone, are we?"

Christine looked surprised. "I…no, actually, I'm not. I just wanted a change of scenery, that's all."

"Oh, I thought perhaps you would be meeting that handsome young Viscomte. Have you seen him since he came by here the other day? He certainly seems like a good catch! You really shouldn't be so hard on him, dearie. After all, he is rich and if you married him, you'd never have to work again!" She spoke matter-of-factly, yet Christine knew that the woman had no facts to go on at all. It annoyed her a great deal.

"Madame, with all due respect, whom I choose to see or _not _see is **my** decision. And I am well aware of the Viscomte's wealth and charm. You need not remind me." She brushed a stray curl from her face. "May I be excused now?" She knew that she was pushing the limit of the older woman's patience by speaking to her in such a manner, but she did not care. _It is rude of her to ask me about my personal life! She is not my friend, nor my mother, but my **employer**, for heaven's sake!_

"Go on, then, Christine." The woman waved for her to go. "And you're going to need an advance again, aren't you?"

Christine blushed. Erik had, in fact, given her some money the night before. She had refused it…but from the look on his face, she knew that she had best hold her tongue and take the money. Even though she would soon be his fiancée, she felt odd accepting money from him...still, she hadn't yet received her first paycheck, and she needed it. "No, Madame, I…I still have some money left…from before," she lied.

"Well, aren't _you_ a frugal one?" Madame Dubois laughed. "Very well, then. Off you go."

Christine stepped into the kitchen to fetch her cloak, as the weather had grown colder that week. She heard the doorbell ringing from the storefront, and she knew that a customer had entered. _Women's voices_, she thought. _Thank God it isn't Raoul! _She turned to exit through the back door when she heard Madame Dubois calling her name excitedly. She turned and stepped out to the storefront with a curious expression on her face. To her delight, she saw two beautifully familiar faces standing before her.

"Christine!" Meg Giry shouted, nearly tripping over the rug trying to get to her.

"Meg? Oh, Meg! I am so happy to see you!" She and Meg cried tears of joy as they embraced after nearly a month apart.

"I-we had no idea what had happened to you after the fire! When we didn't hear from you, we became worried. But here you are, working in this shop!" Meg glanced quickly behind her to her mother, who stood there in silent shock, tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Madame Giry!" Christine rushed to her foster mother and wrapped her arms about her shoulders, sobbing into her neck. "I didn't know if I'd ever see you again! I…I had no idea where you were staying, and I didn't even know where to look." She sniffled and tried to compose herself. She grasped the hands of the two women that she had missed so dearly, and couldn't help but smile so much that her face began to ache.

"Come, let's go to lunch!" Meg suggested excitedly to her mother. "May we, Maman?"

"Well, I suppose that it would be up to Madame Dubois to decide--"

"Oh, I have already excused Christine for lunch, Monique. She was going to head to a café, I believe…weren't you, Christine?" Madame Dubois genuinely smiled at her, as though she were sharing in Christine's joy.

"Yes, actually, I was. Won't you both come with me? Please! I need to catch up on all of the events in your lives!" Christine smiled at the two women, hoping that they would accept.

"Of course, we would be thrilled to join you." Madame Giry warmly grasped Christine's hand and smiled. "And you must tell us all about…how you came to be employed here, with Madame Dubois." There was an edge of disdain in her voice, and Christine sensed it. _What will she say when I tell her about Raoul?_ she wondered. _And do I dare to tell her about **Erik**?_

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_**A/N**: Darn it all! Am I the ONLY one around here who doesn't own a copy of Kay's Phantom? Grrr! And Leanne, if Erik gets in a plane crash on the way to my house, I'm gonna be really peeved! LOL Thanks to everyone for your reviews. I really appreciate all of you who are taking the time to read this story. -HUGS!-


	34. Chapter 34

_Disclaimer: You know the drill. I only own my original characters, everyone. None of whom could ever compare to the complexity and beauty of Erik! _

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

The three ladies left the seamstress shop, with Meg and Christine giggling the entire walk to the café. They all entered and quieted long enough to place their orders with the waitress, and Madame Giry wasted no time in pressing Christine for information.

"So…would you mind sharing exactly why you are working for my old friend in a seamstress shop? And where is the Viscomte?"

Meg stared at her mother in horror. "Maman, you act as though Christine has done something _wrong!_ Has she?"

"No, of course not, ma cherie. But I am a bit befuddled by all of this. Christine, please, tell us what has happened."

Christine lowered her eyes to the table and pursed her lips. She didn't know where to begin. Sighing, she decided that the simplest way was to just come out with it. "I…I have broken my engagement to Raoul, and I needed a place to live and work. Madame Dubois was kind enough to give me both." Everyone at the table was suddenly silent. After a long pause, Christine looked up into Madame Giry's eyes, which were wide with shock. "Madame? Are you all right? Per-perhaps I should explain."

"I should think so, ma cherie," Madame Giry responded slowly, as if in a daze.

"You see, Raoul went away on business, and I was left to stay with some family friends of his. While I was there, I…I realized that I did not love Raoul as a wife should love a husband, and I did not feel that it was right to remain engaged to him. And as for being employed with a seamstress…well, Marie from the Populaire had been teaching me a few things here and there, and since I obviously can never **sing** in this city again…" she trailed off, tears springing to her eyes. "I had no idea where to find you, or I would have come to you first! It was so difficult for me, when Raoul asked me to leave, that I--"

"He asked you to **leave**?" Meg cried, loudly enough to disturb the patrons around her.

"Shhh! Meg, keep your voice down, for heaven's sake!" Madame Giry scolded her. "Christine, I need to know something." She furrowed her brow. "You seemed so much in love with the Viscomte…how did you come to this 'realization' about your feelings toward him?"

Christine shifted nervously in her chair, glancing around her at the other patrons. Finally, her eyes settled on Madame Giry's. "Madame, do you not know?" she asked quietly, casting a knowing glance at the older woman.

Madame Giry stared at her, her mouth gaping slightly. "No! Christine, **no**! It can't…you can't _possibly_…tell me it isn't **true**!"

"It _is_ true, Madame. I…I have been in love with him for so long, but I refused to see it until recently. And you know of whom I speak, do you not? I suspect that you have had a rather unusual relationship with him for quite some time." She raised an eyebrow at her foster mother, whose astonished expression gave way to a knowing half-smile.

Meg was clearly confused. "What? Who are you in love with, Christine? What on _earth _are you _talking_ about?" She threw up her hands in frustration, nearly causing a scene again. Christine placed her hand on Meg's shoulder. "**Him**, Meg. I'm in love with **him**."

"With…with _Raoul_?" Meg looked askance at her. Christine shook her head slowly. Meg sat thinking for a moment before her eyes went wide with surprise. "_Christine!_ How…when…? You must be **joking**!"

"I'm afraid she isn't, ma cherie," Madame Giry interjected. She turned her attention again to Christine. "Have you seen him since that night?"

Christine nodded. "I have. And he is a completely different man now. I cannot reveal more to you--that is for him to tell you himself. But I want you to know that we are in love and we are courting with intentions of marriage." She steeled herself for what she feared might be an argument. However, Madame Giry simply sank back in her chair.

"Then you have finally decided between the two men, Christine? Because Erik cannot take rejection from you _again_!" She spat the words angrily at her, and Christine knew that her suspicions had been right…_Erik and Madame Giry **are** friends. She wasn't just his messenger and box keeper._ Christine planned to question Erik about it one day, when the time was right.

_Erik?_ Meg thought, bewildered. _Monsieur le Fantôme has a **name**?_

"Yes, Madame. I have decided. I choose Erik. I am in love with him, and I want nothing more than to be his wife. Do you believe me?"

Madame Giry studied Christine for a brief moment before nodding. "Yes, ma cherie, I believe you. And I hope that you will speak to Erik and tell him...that I would very _much_ like to see him again." She smiled. "I assume that he is no longer living in the bowels of the Opera?"

"No, Madame, of course not. And I will pass the message along to him."

The waitress arrived with their lunches, and the subject was changed to more pleasant matters. The Opera was to be rebuilt, with the financial assistance of the Viscomte de Chagny. The news had finally been made public. Madame Giry and Meg were not certain if they were going to wait until its completion or seek employment in another place, and Christine secretly hoped that they would remain in Paris long enough, at least, to attend her wedding to her beloved Erik. When that would be, however, she had no idea.

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The black carriage passed by a small café and he caught sight of three very familiar faces. He tapped on the carriage to get his driver's attention. "Stop! Let me off here, please." He stepped out and slowly walked nearer to the café windows, observing Madame Giry's expressions. Meg was seated next to her mother and Christine's back was now facing him, obscuring his view of her face. _How did they find each other again? Perhaps they will be able to talk some sense into Christine!_ Determined to act as though this was nothing more than a chance meeting, Raoul opened the café door, careful not to look in their general direction. He seated himself at a table in the corner and picked up a newspaper, pretending to be lost in thought.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meg suddenly gripped Christine's arm. "He's here. Christine, _don't_ turn around."

"**Who** is here, Meg?" Christine felt fear grip her heart and she prayed that it was not Erik who had just walked through the door. _How foolish that would be, in broad daylight, in downtown Paris!_

Madame Giry looked across the room and then quickly shifted her eyes back to her plate. "It is the Viscomte. He must have seen us. What if he approaches you, Christine? Do you _want_ to speak with him?"

"I cannot ignore him. I do care for him…he has been my friend for a very long time. I will be all right. I'm not concerned." Christine tried to convince herself that she could speak with Raoul in a civil tone, but she was not so certain. She was glad, however, that she was not alone in the café with him. _Perhaps he won't be so bold as to discuss personal matters in front of Meg and Madame Giry._ She turned her attention back to her lunch, sipping her soup noiselessly from the spoon. Within seconds, she heard a noise behind her and knew that he was standing there. She glanced at Meg, who had turned red-faced, but had refused to look up.

"Good afternoon, ladies," Raoul spoke with a cheerful air, though he was feeling something altogether different. "It has been such a long time since I have seen you. How did you fare after the fire?" He smiled disarmingly and Madame Giry returned a polite expression.

"We have fared as well as could be expected, Viscomte. Thank you for asking. And how are you?"

"I have been rather busy with plans of rebuilding the Populaire. We have hired some new architects and I believe that they will do a fine job. Giroux and Associates, in Melun."

Christine nearly dropped her spoon. _**Giroux?** Surely not the same Giroux that Monsieur Laurent spoke of…Erik's new employer!_ _Oh, **no**! This cannot be happening!_

"They were recommended by a good friend of mine, Monsieur Gregoire Laurent." He glanced down at the top of Christine's head, and then shifted his gaze to Meg. "Little Meg, have you been well?"

"Y-yes, I have. Thank you. I…am glad to hear that you will be rebuilding the Opera."

"Oh, I would hate to see it go…and so many people would be out of work! Will you be returning when the construction is complete?"

Madame Giry cleared her throat. "We are not yet certain of our plans, Viscomte. We do need to make an immediate income somehow, you know." She smiled at him, but the smile did not reach her eyes.

"Yes, well…" Raoul replied. "You have your infamous _Opera Ghost_ to thank for this, I suppose," he spoke bitterly. "It should be **his** money rebuilding the Populaire and not mine. But then, I don't suppose he has a penny to his name anymore…and rightly so." He stared at the women smugly and placed both hands on the back of Christine's chair. "Ladies, might I speak to Mademoiselle Daae **alone**, please?"

Madame Giry stared at Christine, wide-eyed. Christine nodded in reassurance, and the two other women rose quickly, leaving the table to wait outside. Raoul moved to Meg's chair and seated himself, meeting Christine's eyes with an expression of scorn. He could not help but be bitter…he had discovered so many more gruesome details about the man seducing _his_ Christine. "I have some information that you may find interesting, Lotte." He purposely tried to remain stoic, refusing to show her any affection whatsoever. _If she decides to return to me, then I will show her plenty of love…but until then, I **must** not subject myself to the torture._

She chewed her food and swallowed, staring at him impassively. After a moment, she sipped her tea leisurely and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. Clearing her throat at last, she settled back into her chair, folding her arms across her chest. "Very well. I suppose I have no _choice_ but to hear it."

Raoul was furious. "_Damn_ it, Christine!" He shouted, pounding his fist upon the table. The waitress immediately stepped forward to intervene. Christine glanced up at her, smiling. "It's alright, everything is fine." The waitress stared at Raoul for a moment before returning to her duties.

Christine felt a twinge of guilt. "Raoul, I don't mean to treat you badly…but you apparently came here with an agenda. And you have already insulted someone I care _deeply_ for, in front of the only family that I have. So, if you will be so kind, please just say what you came to say, and perhaps we will be able to salvage what little friendship we have left." She scrutinized him, her features clouded with hurt and anger.

He softened a bit, disturbed by the way he had acted, and reached to lay his hand upon hers. To his surprise, she did not pull away. "Christine, some news has been…brought to my attention, and I have found it to be rather disturbing. It concerns you and your safety, darling."

Christine furrowed her brows. "I am perfectly safe, Raoul. What news are you speaking about?"

Raoul shifted in his seat and lowered his voice. "I have acquired proof, ma cherie, that your Phantom is not who you believe him to be." He watched as her face contorted into an expression of loathing.

"You…what have you **done**?" She nearly jumped out of her chair at him. "Do you think that this will bring me _back_ to you, Raoul? I cannot believe that you would deliberately seek to slander him and _hurt_ me like this!" She sobbed into her cloth napkin and turned away from him, shaking.

_This is not going well at all. I had expected as much...but I am doing this for her own good_, he thought to himself, rationalizing his own actions. He tried to remain calm as he reached inside his coat and pulled out a few folded papers from the inside pocket. "Christine, I do not mean to hurt you…I am doing this because I…I _love _you, and I want to keep you safe."

Christine's sobbing had subsided to the point of sniffles and she glared at him. "So you say. But it isn't true. You want to keep me _bound_, with no one to run to except **you**! Will you seek to destroy _everyone_ in my life that I love?"

"Just listen, please. I know that what I have done may seem…hurtful to you, but I did it for **you**, Lotte. _Only_ for you…because I would hate to see you end up like so many others who have crossed this monster's path." His tone took on the familiar bitterness again, and he tried desperately to contain it.

"So _many_ others?" Her expression turned to one of mild surprise. "I know that he has committed murder at the Opera...Buquet and Piangi, but--"

Raoul sighed. "I'm afraid that he has taken more lives than those…only God Himself knows how many for certain. The…the man has lived in other countries…has he told you that?"

She nodded. "Yes…I do know that he…he traveled with…" She stopped short, not wanting to share details of Erik's life with his rival. _It would be a betrayal of his trust._

Raoul finished her sentence. "With gypsies." She nodded, and he continued. "After that time, he spent much of his life in India and Persia up until about fifteen years ago."

"R-_really_?" Christine recalled that Erik would speak to her of Persia from time to time, but she had no idea how long he had stayed there…and he hadn't mentioned what business he had in such a place. "Raoul, do you…know what he was doing in Persia?"

"Sadly, yes. The information is on this paper here." He handed her one of the folded document pages from Monsieur Thibedeaux, and she opened it slowly. She frowned and squinted as she read the contents. _Shah of Persia…magician…. _ Christine swallowed hard and hot tears began to fill her eyes as she read the remainder of the information. "Oh, _no_. No." She shook her head. "It-it can't be! **_No!_** Not my Erik! Not my beautiful **_Angel_**!" She emitted a breathy sob, and Raoul placed a hand on her shoulder. Christine felt sick to her stomach. She suddenly struggled to breathe, and could feel herself fading quickly. She gripped Raoul's arm and the room began to spin around her. Blackness rapidly engulfed her as she fell forward, unconscious, her head landing on his chest.

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**A/N:** Thank you for your reviews! Gosh, I'm so flattered by some of them that I don't even know what to say! -blushes- And all of you seem to be very anxious for me to read Susan Kay's novel. I assure you, I am working on that now! Have no fear! And I know, I know...many of you are probably sick of Raoul. Well, unfortunately, he's still around. Bear with me, here! -grins-


	35. Chapter 35

_Disclaimer: -sigh- MUST we go through this again? LOL _

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

_Where am I?_ Christine groggily opened her eyes and looked around. Her head was still spinning and her eyes refused to focus. She turned slightly, realizing that she was lying down, looking at a very low ceiling. _Am I **moving**?_ She at last determined that she was in a cab and panic nearly seized her--until she felt the weight of someone coming to rest beside her on the seat. "Er-_Erik_?" she sputtered hoarsely. The person leaned in over her and came into focus. "No, Lotte, it's me."

"Raoul? What…what am I doing here? Where are we going?"

"You don't remember, do you?" He looked at her, pursing his lips in concern.

"I—I don't know how I got here, if that's what you're asking." Her mind was a tangled mess of thoughts, and she did not know which were real and which she had dreamed.

"You fainted…in the café," Raoul explained.

Christine stared blankly at him.

"Darling, you were at the café with Madame Giry and Meg…I happened to come in, and we spoke about…about Erik. Do you remember now?" He smiled faintly at her and brushed a curl from her face.

She raised a hand to her head and closed her eyes. "Oh, _God_," she groaned. "Erik…he…he did all of those _things_."

"Yes, darling. It's coming back to you, then." He raised her to sit upright and held her close to his chest, cradling her head. "Now, just take it easy…you were unconscious for more than ten minutes."

"Where is Madame Giry? And Meg? And why am I in a carriage with you? Are you taking me back to the shop?"

"No…I--" Raoul paused, thinking. "I told Madame Giry that it would be best if you came to the estate where you would be taken care of, in case you were ill. I will have my personal physician examine you."

"I'm _fine_, Raoul, I just must have fainted from the…from the _shock_, that's all. I am not ill." She shuddered, recalling the words that she had read on the paper he had given her at the café. _No, please, God. Please don't let those awful things be true! I have to see him…I have to know!_ "I…I can't go to the estate with you. Please take me back to the shop immediately!"

"No!" Raoul suddenly realized that he had responded a bit too forcefully, and he softened. "Christine," he said, kissing her forehead lovingly, "there is no one to take care of you there, my darling…Helene has missed you terribly, and I know that she would love to see you again. Please, at least allow me to provide you with a warm bath and a hot meal. Really, it's the least that I can do."

Christine nearly jumped at the prospect of a warm bath, yet she was wary of Raoul's intentions. "But…but Madame Dubois will be wondering what has happened to me, and I--"

"Shhh, Lotte. It's all been taken care of. Madame Giry was on her way back to the shop to explain everything to Madame Dubois. Don't worry about it." He smiled at her, as lovingly as he always had, and Christine felt sorry for him.

"Alright, Raoul. I suppose that you've left me with no other option, have you?" She frowned, and he looked as though she had wounded him.

"All I want to do is love you, Christine. _Please_, just let me love you," he pleaded with her, tears in his eyes. "I'm so _desperately_ in love with you. You are all that I want in this world. Please, my darling," he choked, grasping her hand tightly, "please give me another chance." His lower lip trembled as he released a ragged sigh.

Christine hated to see Raoul so emotional. She suddenly felt horribly guilty. _It's as though I've ripped his heart from his chest and handed it to him!_ "Oh, Raoul, please," she begged him tearfully, "don't ask me to do this. I…I can't bear the fact that I'm hurting you!" She sobbed, covering her face with her hands. She felt his arms come around her shoulders, and she stiffened.

"Perhaps I pushed you toward marriage too soon, my darling. I am so sorry if I did. I should have known that you weren't ready. If you will stay with me, I promise that I will not pressure you in any way. I will wait for you, as long as it takes." He lifted her chin upward with his finger. "Let's start over, Christine. We can go away together…to wherever you want to go. You might even like a visit to Sweden, yes?" He smiled hopefully, praying that she would recall the happier times of their childhood and the innocent love that had blossomed between them. But when he saw her tears and the pain contorting her face, he realized at last that his "Little Lotte" was truly gone. In her place was a grown woman…a woman with whom he would give anything to share his home, his life, and his bed. "I _need _you," he whispered against her skin, and suddenly, his passion for her erupted within him. He placed a furious, desperate kiss to her lips, and she stiffened in shock. She tried to pull away from him, but he gripped her shoulders tightly, until she forcefully pushed an open palm into his chest. He drew back, gasping for breath, and the look of shock and dismay on her face nearly made him lose his sanity.

"Raoul, don't! I have to go—you have to take me back **now**!" she pleaded with him.

He was humiliated and dejected, but jealousy flared within him. "No, Christine. As I said, you will have your bath and meal at the estate. And then I will take you back to the shop." He gazed at her sullenly. "I apologize for my…inappropriate behavior. I assure you, it will not happen again. You have made your feelings clear." He straightened his waistcoat and tensed his jaw, turning his gaze toward the carriage window. "I never did anything but love you, you know. That's all I ever wanted to do. I feel utterly lost without you." He hung his head, feeling completely powerless to reach her.

"Raoul," she replied softly, laying a hand on his shoulder, "I know that you love me…and I am regretful that things have become so complicated. I never meant to hurt you. You are dear to me, and I have loved you since I was a child. We will always have our memories…" she trailed off, unsure of what else she could say to try and comfort him.

"I don't want the memories alone, Christine," he replied, turning slightly to cast her a longing glance. "I want a future with you."

Christine could not hold back her tears, and she cried as quietly as she could, looking out her carriage window. _Why this torture, Lord? Why couldn't I have been stronger? Why couldn't I have chosen Erik to begin with? It would have made things so much simpler._ The carriage pulled up to the vast de Chagny mansion and halted. Without a word, Raoul opened the door and extended a hand to Christine. She mumbled a "thank you" and stepped from the carriage, as Raoul led her to the front door.

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Christine jerked awake in a tub full of lukewarm water. She had dreamed of Erik, and the it had terrified her. She couldn't recall what had happened in the dream, but it left her with a great sense of uneasiness and foreboding. She washed her hair and rinsed it, standing up to dry off with the fluffy, monogrammed bath towel that Helene had given her. She was about to dress in the same clothes she had worn that day, when Helene knocked at the lavatory door. "Yes, Helene?"

"Mademoiselle Christine, I have some clean clothes for you…would you like me to lay them on the bed?"

"Clean clothes? But I--"

"Yes, the Viscomte had a lovely frock made for you. I'll leave you to finish up. Send for me when you require my assistance, please."

"Thank you, Helene," Christine called back to the maid, "I will be out to dress in a few moments." _So, did he have this dress made while we were still engaged…or when he plotted to try and win my heart again?_ She wanted to believe that her instincts were incorrect, but she couldn't deny the fact that Raoul had very cleverly orchestrated the entire scenario. _Why? Why did he search for such awful information about Erik? And why did he seek me out and insist on bringing me back here?_ She was angry and hurt, and it only increased her resolve to leave as soon as possible. Yet somewhere, in the back of her mind, she wondered if Raoul would even allow her to leave again.

She patted the dampness from her curls with the towel and then wrapped it around her body, stepping out into her old bedroom. She sighed, glancing at the gorgeous frock on the bed, made of yellow satin and taffeta, with tiny yellow roses lining the bodice. She thought that it was far too formal for her to be wearing to return to the seamstress shop. It was the frock of a future Viscomtess…not one of a former chorus girl turned diva turned lowly seamstress' apprentice. She thought it strange how the dress no longer suited her…just a week before, she wouldn't have thought twice about wearing such a decorated gown. But her life had changed since then…_she_ had changed since then, she realized with a mixture of surprise and pride. She felt as though she could finally breathe and be who she really was, without fear of acting in a way unbecoming a future de Chagny.

She called for Helene, who was surprised to find Christine still wrapped in her towel. "Mademoiselle, is there something wrong?"

"Yes, in fact, there is. I do not wish to wear this frock. Is there something a bit less—formal—that I could wear?"

Helene stared at Christine. "You…you do not _like_ the gown, Mademoiselle?"

"Oh, no. It's lovely. It's just that…I will be returning to the city shortly, and I wish to wear something more comfortable." She smiled at Helene, who seemed to understand at last.

"Perhaps I might have something of my own that you could wear. I…I know that I am just a maid, but if you would allow--"

"_Just_ a maid?" Christine interjected. "Do you realize that you are speaking to a _seamstress' apprentice_?" She giggled and Helene couldn't help but smile.

"I'll be right back," Helene winked. Christine reached for the light and semi-sheer shift on the bed and pulled it over her head, dropping the towel to the floor. She stood looking at the yellow dress, tracing over the yellow embroidered roses with the pads of her fingers. She heard the door creak and laughed lightheartedly. "That certainly didn't take you long, Helene." Christine stopped short as she turned and found herself looking into Raoul's blue eyes--which were intently focused on the gentle curves of her body through the thin covering. "Raoul!" she shouted, moving quickly to snatch the towel from the floor. She tried to cover herself as he boldly stepped further into the room and closed the door behind him. Christine heard the sickening click of the lock and she stared at him, trembling with fear and anger.

Raoul raised a hand up to chest level, his palm facing her. "I'm only here because I want to speak with you, darling," he said, his voice clearly trembling with desire. "I—didn't expect to find you in this…position."

She glared at him and stepped backward. "If you were any kind of gentleman at all, you would leave at this moment!"

He could feel his cheeks becoming flushed as he watched her grow more agitated. Seeing her nearly naked and angry was making him feel as though he had little control of himself. He drew closer to her, and she stepped backward again, bumping into the large armoire behind her. "Christine," he breathed, reaching his hand up to caress her hair, "I remember when you did not shrink back at my touch, but welcomed it…and my desire for you has not changed, my love." He leaned in close to her and she turned her face from his, feeling his hot breath on her neck. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. "Please, Raoul…don't," she squeaked, her throat tightening around each word.

"You used to be tempted by my touch…you used to tell me that you loved me, Christine." He ran his index finger down the side of her neck and fingered the lace of her shift. "Can you honestly tell me that you are not tempted even now?" He lowered his mouth to her collarbone, and she let out a yelp, struggling to free herself from his grasp. She managed to wriggle out from between Raoul and the armoire, darting across the room to the large bay window. "Don't you take one more **step**, Raoul de Chagny!" she hissed at him, breathing rapidly. His eyes focused on her chest as she breathed in and out. "You are not the gentleman that I remember! You have changed within the span of mere days! You were supposed to be my **friend**, Raoul!" She began to sob, and he moved slowly toward her, his expression of lust turning to one of regret.

"Christine, please…"

"**No**! Don't, Raoul! Don't come **near** me!" She held out her arm before her, as if it would keep him away. "I refuse to stay here one more second! I am leaving! And if you try to keep me here, then you are more of a _beast _than you know!"

Raoul stopped suddenly, his proud stature fading into one of shame. "I—I'm so sorry. Forgive me." He looked into her eyes sadly, and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm _sorry_." He turned toward the door, unlocking it, and stepped silently into the hall. Christine watched as he pulled the door closed behind him, but her feet refused to move from the spot where she had been standing. After several seconds, the door creaked open again, and Christine nearly shouted until she saw Helene's familiar face peering around the edge.

"Mademoiselle?" She smiled. Seeing Christine's terrified expression, she rushed to her side, concerned. "Mademoiselle Christine! What has happened? Are you alright?"

Christine could find no words. She embraced Helene tightly and sobbed into her shoulder for several moments before she was able to vocalize her thoughts. "I want to go home."

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**A/N**: Aw! And some of you were worried that Christine would give in to Raoul! Have you so little faith in her? LOL Thank you to those that reviewed. Any specifics on what you liked would be a good thing, if you have the time to write a few sentences. Thanks to everyone...even my lurkers! I hope you're enjoying it. -hugs-


	36. Chapter 36

_Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom. And I also don't own a beach house. Or a Mercedes. Or anything else really big and expensive! Now on with the story! _

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

"Please, at least let me take you back to the shop, Christine…it's the least that I can do after…" Raoul closed his eyes and swallowed, bowing his head in shame. "I understand why you won't be staying for supper, but I simply _must _escort you home."

"No," Christine replied, her face and voice completely devoid of emotion. "I will go alone."

Without another word between them, Christine climbed into the awaiting de Chagny carriage and breathed a ragged sigh of relief before bursting into tears again. She stared out the window at the darkening sky. The days were growing shorter as winter approached, and it made Christine think of events surrounding her father's death. _How is it that everything has gone awry? Why couldn't I have had a normal life, with my mother and father, happily living in Sweden? Why did I have to lose everyone who was important to me, Lord, **why**?_ Hot tears traced their paths down her cheeks and she was relieved when the carriage arrived at the seamstress shop at last. She quickly wiped the wetness and salt residue from her cheeks, trying to muster a smile while she thanked the driver. She approached the storefront, knowing that it was only a few minutes before five o'clock, and Madame Dubois was about to lock up for the day. The older woman spotted Christine outside the door, letting out a cry of surprise that was audible through the thin glass pane of the window. The lock clicked and Madame Dubois opened the door, smiling.

"How are you feeling, dearie?" she said in an uncharacteristically kind manner. She gazed sympathetically at Christine and touched her on the shoulder.

"I'm…feeling a bit better now, thank you for asking." Christine hoped that the older woman wouldn't notice that her eyes were a bit puffy and red from crying. She needn't have worried, because Madame Dubois was, as usual, in a hurry to get home.

"Well, then, I'm glad to hear it, though I was expecting that you might not return this evening. Tomorrow is Saturday, of course, and I usually work half a day. I'll be here just before eight o'clock, but you can sleep in if you like. After your fainting episode today, I think it might be a good idea," she chuckled. "I've put some more food in the kitchen for you, so help yourself. It should be enough to last you more than a few days." She smiled and threw her cloak over her shoulders, stepping through the kitchen to the back door. "See you in the morning." The old wooden door closed with a creak and Christine was left alone with her thoughts. Her mind immediately began to replay the frightening scenario with Raoul at the estate, making her at once claustrophobic and anxious. "I can't stay here," she spoke aloud. She removed her shawl and raced up the steep staircase to her room, retrieving her heavier cloak.

Closing the back exit firmly behind her, she stepped outside and hailed a cab in the front of the shop.

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Erik had been sorting through his sketches earlier in the day when another package had arrived from Monsieur Giroux. He had opened it, glancing at the contents, stunned by what he read. His firm had been hired by the Viscomte de Chagny and "those incompetent fools" as Erik had referred to them, the managers of the Populaire. _I am to make sketches for portions of the theatre, _he sighed. The great chandelier came to mind, and he felt deep regret for the destruction that he had caused. He hadn't intended to destroy his home, nor the livelihoods of others, by setting fire to it…he had merely wanted to cause a diversion so that he could escape with Christine. _But none of that matters now_, he realized. _What's done is done, and I cannot change the past. Still, I wonder what that boy would do if he knew that **I **was to be one of the architects in charge of the project!_ He stretched languidly and rubbed the back of his neck, intending to bathe before heading into town to see Christine, when something out the window caught his eye.

A dark cab was slowly making its way down the dirt road to the guest house, and Erik quickly put on his wig and mask, wondering who could be coming for an unannounced visit so near the dinner hour. _Perhaps it is Father Michel…I certainly hope that nothing is wrong. _He stepped to the front door and opened it as the vehicle came to a halt. The cab door opened and his heart leaped in his chest when he saw that it was his Christine, dressed in her dark cloak with a gray dress beneath it. _What on earth is she doing here?_ A smile crept to his countenance. _Perhaps she has decided that it was her turn to surprise **me**, _he thought amusedly.

Christine reached into her cloak and pulled out some money, paying the driver quickly. She turned around and caught sight of Erik's broad form standing in the doorway, a smile upon his face. She wanted to return the smile, but she knew that he would discern her true temperament regardless. _Sometimes, I believe he knows me better than I know myself_, she marveled. She hurried up the steps toward the door, stopping just short of him. "Christine?" He searched her face, and his smile slowly faded. "Something is wrong. Come inside." He held the door for her and she entered without a word.

He closed the door behind them quickly and turned to see Christine removing her cloak and seating herself in the armchair by the window. Her demeanor perplexed him, and he silently tried to discern her emotions. Doubt began to seep into his mind._ Surely she hasn't changed her mind about us. _ He cursed himself. _Why must I always rush to the worst possible conclusions?_ "Ma cherie," he spoke tenderly, "has something happened to you?"

Almost immediately, Christine covered her face in her hands and began to weep softly. Erik rushed to her side, kneeling and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "Christine, please, speak to me. You're…you're beginning to _alarm_ me!" He began to tremble slightly, knowing that something awful must have happened for her to behave in such a fashion. However, his trembling was not only from trepidation, but from the familiar sensation of anger bubbling within his breast. _Whoever has upset her will pay dearly for what they have done!_ Almost as quickly as the thought had come, a swift rebuke followed. He had grown to recognize the voice of the Holy Spirit over the past few weeks and had spent late nights in prayer and in the study of God's Word, as Father Michel had prompted him. He found that he was beginning to notice subtle changes in his own temperament. However, his anger was still quick to flare, and he wished that the Lord would change him overnight in that regard. He shook her gently by her shoulders. "Christine!"

She uncovered her face and stared up at him, a mixture of fear and sadness in her eyes, mingled with love. "Er-Erik, I saw Raoul today."

Erik's expression hardened and he attempted unsuccessfully to keep his voice even. "What has that boy **done** to you?" he growled ferally.

She shook her head. "Oh, Erik…I don't know where to begin." She began to cry again, and though Erik was frustrated with her momentary puerility, he patiently waited, stroking her upper arms to comfort her as she cried. At last, she began to sniffle and calmed her breathing. "Madame Giry and Meg came into the shop today, not even knowing that I was working there, and I was overjoyed!" She paused, seeing Erik's shocked and pleased expression. "And…we went to lunch at a café nearby and I told them…about us, Erik." Erik's delight turned quickly to concern, but she continued on, trying to ignore his abrupt changes in emotion. "I told them that I had ended my engagement to Raoul, and that I was in love with you, and that we had plans to marry in the future."

Erik couldn't resist asking, "Did Madame Giry happen to…say anything about me?" He smiled slyly, and Christine nodded. "She wants you to get in touch with her…she is anxious to see you again. And she also seemed a bit…_angry_ with me."

He nodded in understanding. "Because you left me, I assume."

"Yes." Christine stared at him, surprised. "How did you _know_ that?"

"Monique and I have been friends for quite some time, mon ange. Long before you came to the Opera, she was helping me to survive in the dank cellars. She took pity on me and loved me very much as a mother would…always being protective of me, and wanting nothing more than my happiness. I will be forever in her debt. And how does little Giry fare?"

Christine chuckled lightly at Erik's term for Meg. "Meg is well, but I must say that she was shocked to hear about our relationship." Christine paused while Erik laughed in amusement, her expression again becoming grave. "Raoul arrived unexpectedly, and he brought with him some…information."

"He _what_? Was he **following** you?" Erik snorted in disgust. "What kind of information could that boy possibly have that would concern _you_?"

Christine turned her gaze away from him and stared at her hands, twisting them in a nervous fashion. _How can I say this delicately?_ she wondered. _I can't. There is no easy way to say it…I had best just come out with it straight away. _"He…he has apparently obtained some information about your…your past."

Erik froze, barely breathing, as he contemplated the possible meaning of this statement. _No…is it possible? What am I thinking? Of **course** it is possible! I should have known that she would find out about my sordid past eventually._ "Christine…I am aware that there is nothing good or redeeming about my past, so you may as well tell me what you know."

She still refused to look at him. "He…he showed me a paper that referred to your time in…in Persia. Oh, Erik, I remember some of the stories that you used to tell me about that place, but I never knew how long you were really there, or…or _why _you were there. Is it _true_, Erik? Did…did you really kill and…_torture_ all of those people?" She looked into his eyes then, practically pleading with him to tell her that it was a complete fabrication. He thought for a moment, and prayed silently for the appropriate words to say.

"Mon ange," he sighed, "you are aware that I was raised with no love at all. I have already told you of my mother and how she abandoned me to the gypsies." He tried to maintain his composure. "I…I escaped my captors with the help of Madame Giry, and as I grew up in the cellars of the Opera, I read many books about places all over the world. I decided that I would travel and see the places firsthand." He squeezed her hand gently then, and furrowed his brow, as if the mere remembrance brought him pain. "When I went to Persia, I learned many things…not the least of which was how to be an effective assassin. The leader of the country found out about my 'talents' and offered me a position with him. Part of my job was to entertain the people in the royal court by performing magic tricks and also…by designing creative and painful ways to punish persons who had allegedly committed crimes against the government." He lowered his chin. "I was exactly what you think I was, Christine. A murderer for hire. And I was good at it. I actually used to _enjoy_ it." She stared at him in horror, and though he did not meet her eyes, he could sense her expression. "Yes, it's _true_, as sickening as it is. And now you must understand…when I told you that God had forgiven me of all of my past sins…_this_ is what I meant." He looked up into her frightened brown eyes and continued in earnest. "I have had nightmares for so long…and the night that the Lord came to me, I had envisioned in my dreams all of the faces that I had so brutally murdered. They came to torment me, and I thought that I would surely die. But then…His voice came to me, and I knew that I was forgiven."

Christine was stunned at Erik's honest admission. Her mouth had gone dry and she was shaking. She could feel the warmth of his hand grasping hers, and she tried to remind herself that this was the man she loved more than life itself. _Blessed Jesus, help me! May I not hold against him what You have already forgiven! _She had no idea what to say, so she simply reached up with her free hand and caressed his cheek.

He exhaled and relaxed into her touch, closing his eyes. "Forgive me, Christine. I…I am _not_ an honorable man. I have never been…but with the _Lord's_ help, I am trying. I often fear that my past will haunt me forever." She watched his face contort into a pained expression and his breathing became ragged. A stray tear trickled down his cheek, and she wiped it away with her thumb. "No, Erik," she rasped. "It is not up to me to forgive. Christ has already forgiven you, and I have no right to condemn you, my darling. It is I that must ask forgiveness of you."

He stared at her, in awe of her words. "For _what_, Christine? For having doubts about a man who has murdered countless innocents along with the guilty? No, my darling, there is nothing to forgive. I will truly _never _be worthy of your love."

"Shhh, Erik. I am not worthy of _your_ love. _I_ was the one who left, and who had no idea that I was in love with the man who had cared for me for several years of my life! There is _so much_ good in you—and I will be proud to take your name when we become one."

"Oh, Christine," Erik groaned, leaning in and pressing a fervent kiss to her lips. "Thank you. _I love you_," he whispered shakily, his eyes still brimming with tears.

Christine smiled back at him and slowly removed his mask. He was surprised at first, but chose not to resist her. She leaned in and pressed slow, tender kisses to the ravaged side of his face, releasing tears of her own. "I love you more every moment, Erik. How is this even _possible_?" she whispered into his right ear.

They embraced for several minutes, until Christine recalled her horrid afternoon with a shudder. _I have to tell him_, she admitted to herself. She cleared her throat and met his gaze. "Erik, when I heard this news, I…I was in the café and I fainted." She blushed, clearly ashamed of her own weakness. He placed his finger under her chin and searched her face, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I am now, but…when I awoke, I was in Raoul's carriage," she added, squeezing her eyes shut and steeling herself for the expected outburst of rage. Instead, she was met with silence. She opened her eyes and stared at Erik, whose eyes were blazing.

"And what happened **then**?" he pressed her, with clenched teeth.

"He…he insisted that I go to the estate and he said he would have his physician examine me."

"And what did the physician say?"

"Well…he…never actually came to see me. I got there and decided to have a bath, and when I…" she stopped, a warning sounding within her. She knew that he would surely seek to kill Raoul for his actions, but she also knew that Erik was to become her husband, and he had a right to know of Raoul's advances.

"Go on," Erik remarked, losing his patience by the second.

"I got out of the bath, and Helene—the maid—was there and she had laid out a horrendously overdone frock on the bed," she chuckled nervously. "I asked her if she had a clean dress that I could borrow, as I had decided to go home immediately and refused to wear such a formal dress. She left to fetch me this one," she said, looking down at her dress, "and…" she blushed and her cheek twitched slightly. She sighed in frustration, blurting out the words. "And Raoul came in, while I was…in a state of undress…"

Erik jumped to his feet, causing Christine to cry out. "He **WHAT**? That sick, spoiled, pitiful excuse for a _man_! I cannot **believe** that he would dishonor you that way!" He balled his hands into fists and began to pace across the front room. "What did he do _then_? Try to have his _way_ with you?" he asked sardonically. He halted in the middle of the room when he saw the look of horror on her face, realizing that it was in fact true. "**_No!_**" he roared, his face turning an obscene shade of red.

She shuddered and wrung her hands in her lap. He knew he had frightened her, and he softened a bit, rushing quickly to her side once more. "My darling," he spoke sincerely, taking her hands in his, "did he hurt you?"

Her face twisted into a visage of pain, and she began to weep. He gathered her into his arms and began to rock her with her head against his chest, as if she were a child. At last, she spoke. "He has lost his mind from grief. He tried to…touch me, and make me feel something for him again." She closed her eyes tightly.

"What do you mean…he tried to _touch_ you?" Erik asked uneasily.

"I mean that he…he tried to…to _seduce_ me, Erik," she whispered hoarsely. "I have never before seen the look in his eyes that I did today. It _frightened _me…he was not the sweet and gentle man that I have always known."

Erik exhaled and tried to focus on helping Christine through her pain rather than on the murderous rage growing within him. At once, he realized that Raoul was experiencing what he himself had known as a constant companion for much of his adult life: _lust_… powerful, unyielding lust for someone that he believes he can never have again. _Oh, how well I know the pain and destruction of such an emotion_, he thought. It seemed to him that he hadn't felt the sensation since he and Christine had confessed their true feelings to each other. He knew at last that possessing Christine's body was not truly what he had wanted from her before, although he had convinced himself at the time that it would fulfill him. It was her **love** that he wanted…a shared love and acceptance between them that made lust pale in comparison.

"Christine," he whispered, "thank you for trusting me enough to tell me what happened. I know that you were afraid of what I might do, but I promise to you now that I will not raise a hand against the boy."

She stared up at him in shock. He laughed darkly when he saw her expression. "I know what he is going through, mon ange. He is a man in love…and a man in love will go to desperate measures to win his beloved's heart, will he not?" He smiled a knowing half-smile at her, and she snuggled deeper into his chest. "I know," she replied. "But…I don't ever want to be in the same room alone with him again."

"No one is going to force it upon you, Christine." He was lost in thought for a moment. "I am sorry that I wasn't there to protect you when you needed me," he said, frowning.

She took his face in her hands. "Erik, you are just _one man_. You cannot be everywhere at once." She smiled. "But the Lord was with me, and I knew that He was there. I was crying out to him in my mind the entire time…and I was also thinking how much I wanted to be with you. I want to become your wife, Erik…very soon. I **need** to belong to you, and you alone."

Erik chuckled. "Mademoiselle, do not tempt me. I would take you as my wife this very _night_ if I knew that your words were fully grounded in sanity and not in fear." He looked at her seriously, his eyes burning into her. "You are running from him."

Christine's mind was reeling. _Did he just say that he would marry me **tonight**?_ She felt breathless, but attempted to make her feelings clear. "No, Erik. I am running _to you_."

"Nevertheless, you are _running_. Give yourself time to process and resolve all of your feelings, mon ange. Emotions are powerful, and they often override our logic. Think about what it is that you are doing, Christine." He could scarcely believe his own words—nearly a month ago, he would have taken any mere crumb that she would have offered him. Now, here she was, offering all of herself, and he was refusing. _Good Lord, I truly **have** changed!_ he marveled. He saw her downcast expression, and caressed her cheek lovingly. "When you are _truly ready_ to be my wife, mon amour, I will not delay our union."

"I love you," she whispered. "What did I ever do to deserve a devoted man like you, Erik? You have always given me such comfort with your words. Even when I was a child and had lost my beloved father, you knew exactly what to say to ensure that I never once had a nightmare." She leaned in close to him and kissed him softly on the lips. "You truly are my Angel."

He pulled her head closer and whispered his love for her against her lips before claiming her mouth in a warm and tender kiss.

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**A/N:** Well, I know from some of your reviews that you may be afraid that I am making Raoul into a bit of a…well, a _jerk_! But honestly, I have always thought that Raoul was entirely too pompous, bossy and arrogant. Yes, he can be heroic, too, but when it comes to Christine, I am trying to show his desperation for her. And frankly, even mild-mannered Raoul has a backbone and a scheming nature (remember his plot to trap the Phantom? And the way he forced Christine to go through with it even though she didn't want to?). There's more to Raoul than tenderness and gentlemanly manners. But don't worry, everyone. I'm not going to turn him into Erik's evil arch-nemesis or anything! LOL

Thank you all for the reviews, as well. I hope that this longer chapter will help to tide you over for a couple of days! Erik smooches to everyone!


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

"I really should be escorting you home now," Erik remarked lazily, truly not wanting to move from Christine's embrace.

"Hmmm?" Christine opened her eyes, realizing that she had been dozing lightly. "I don't want to go yet, Erik. Tomorrow is Saturday, and Madame Dubois said that I could sleep late if I wished." She smiled, turning her forehead to his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt. "I wish I could remain right here for the night…and wake in your arms tomorrow morning."

"Ah, bel ange, it would hardly be 'proper,' remember?" He grinned roguishly, his chin resting on her curls.

She curved her arms more snugly about his waist and blushed even as she spoke. "Perhaps if I remained here, we could leave early enough in the morning so Madame Dubois wouldn't know that I had been gone."

Shocked, Erik drew back and raised her chin to look at him. "Mon ange!" he laughed. "I am surprised at you…sneaking around like a naughty schoolgirl!" His laughter was musical to her and it caused her to laugh as well.

"Forgive me, Erik. It seems that I am not thinking clearly!" she giggled, to his evident delight. He leaned in and kissed her on the mouth suddenly, halting her laughter and evoking a strange warmth in the pit of her stomach. He slowly pulled away and chuckled again. "You have no idea how very flattered I am that you would even wish to stay with me, _mon amour_. It is not something that I take lightly," he smiled down gently at her. "Come, let me take you home. Perhaps tomorrow evening we could visit the church for Mass, if you like. Father Michel would enjoy it very much if we would sing a hymn during the service. Would that please you?"

"Erik that sounds like a lovely idea," she grinned, lifting herself from the settee to stand. He placed her cloak around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. Donning his own hat and cloak, he instructed her to wait at the door for him while he walked to the main house for the Laurent carriage. She did as she was told, and watched him disappear swiftly into the darkness, only to return a few short minutes later in the carriage. He opened the door and held out a strong hand to assist her. "Shall we?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine decided to sleep as late as her body would allow. She woke up and stretched, wanting to go back to sleep, but curious about what time it was. She dressed hurriedly and tiptoed down the steep stairs to the storefront. Madame Dubois was nowhere to be found. Confused, Christine stepped into the kitchen, casting a glance first at the clock in the storefront. "_Noon_!" she gasped. "Oh, my goodness! I am a sluggard!" She shook her head in disbelief and pulled out a chair. She caught sight of a handwritten note on the table.

_Mlle. Christine,_

_I thought it best not to wake you. You surely must have been through an ordeal or illness yesterday and I figured you could use the rest. Have a nice day to relax and I will see you bright and early on Monday morning._

_Annette_

_So, we are on a first name basis at last?_ Christine chuckled. The woman never ceased to surprise her. She was an elusive personality, at best…very rough around the edges, but seemingly soft-hearted. Christine's stomach growled loudly and she got up to search the cabinets for food. She found a several croissants, cheeses, and jams. Settling herself at the table, she couldn't believe her ravenous appetite. _All that sleeping must have been hard work!_ she laughed to herself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik exited the carriage and stepped through the wooden double doors. Light streamed in through the modest stained glass windows and Erik realized that he had never truly noticed humble beauty of the church. He was noticing many things lately that he hadn't before…birds singing, the sun shining, gentle breezes…he knew that it seemed very cliché, but he was certain that it was because he was in love…and that love was being returned.

Father Michel stepped out of the kitchen alcove without noticing Erik near the doors. "Father?" Erik spoke suddenly, causing the old priest to jump. His eyes went wide and he turned toward the voice.

"Erik! My goodness, you certainly do move like a ghost, my boy! You startle me every time I see you!" He laughed and strode swiftly to Erik, catching him in a fatherly embrace. Erik patted him on the back and apologized. "It seems that some of my old ways are with me yet," he conceded. "I have come because I need your help."

"My help? With what?"

"I need to…well, you see, I want to buy something…for Christine," Erik stammered nervously.

"Well, why on earth would you need my help for _that_, my boy?" The old priest looked puzzled.

Erik cleared his throat and smiled curiously at him, motioning to the white mask upon his cheek.

"Oh! Y-yes, naturally," Father Michel chuckled. I have become so accustomed to it, that it seems I don't realize how it hinders you." He studied Erik sadly for a moment before his eyes twinkled good-naturedly. "Now…what can I help you to buy for her?"

"A ring."

Father Michel nearly gasped. "A-a ring, Erik? What…what kind of ring? I mean, it's not a…is it a…" he gulped, staring at Erik, who was clearly amused at the old man's expression.

"Yes, Father, I am going to propose to Christine soon. I need an engagement ring along with a wedding band. And I need to procure a band for myself as well. I do have something in mind, and I trust you to find what I am looking for."

"Erik!" Father Michel clapped his hands, smiling. "This is wonderful news, my boy! I am so pleased! Praise be to the Lord, for He has surely answered your prayers, has He not?"

Erik smiled, tears of joy threatening to fill his eyes. "He has, Father. More bountifully than I had ever dreamed." He handed Father Michel a large bundle of money. "If you should need more, have the jeweler hold the rings and return here so that I can give you the amount you will need. Money is no object…I have plenty saved."

Father Michel's eyes brightened. "Mademoiselle Daae is certainly a lucky young lady, then! I will do my best. Tell me exactly what you want, Erik."

Erik described each ring in detail that he desired. Father Michel jotted down some notes on a piece of paper and folded it. He threw on his cloak and left, promising to return within hours. Erik locked the church doors behind the old priest and sat down in one of the back pews, thinking. _I need to make certain that my land purchase has gone through, as well. I shall need to contact Monsieur Renault. Then…to get to work on my completed designs._ He gazed upon the large crucifix that he had once despised. Now it seemed to him to be the most beautiful symbol of sacrificial love that he had ever seen. "Help me to love her as You have loved me, Lord," he whispered. "I promise You now that all I am is Yours. I need Your direction, and I need to know Your plans for me. Please reveal them to me in Your good time," he prayed fervently. "And thank You…thank You for _mercy_." He bowed his head, tears escaping him, and remained there for some time before climbing the stairs to the organ loft, where he poured his emotion worshipfully into the instrument.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Well, now, let's see…that one there is lovely."

"Of course. If you like that one, then there is another here that you might like as well," the jeweler suggested, eyeing Father Michel strangely.

The old priest noticed the odd looks he was getting, and he cleared his throat. "I am purchasing the rings as a favor to my friend and his fiancée. They are…very busy people."

The jeweler nodded, bringing out several rings, two at a time, for Father Michel to inspect. At last, he had decided. "Those right there…and that one there." he said, pointing to three of the rings. "How much?" He shuddered when the jeweler answered him with the price, but the old priest knew that he had enough on hand to pay without a problem. "Thank you," he smiled as the jeweler handed him the boxes. He placed them in his pocket and headed for the church, having finished in less than an hour. He hoped that Erik would be pleased.

As he rounded a corner, he caught sight of a familiar carriage. _Isn't that one of the Laurent family's carriages? _ He stepped closer and saw that it was. _Erik has one at the church and the other is…here, just a few blocks away! _ Just then, Madame Suzette stepped out of a storefront door, smiling, followed by Monsieur Gregoire.

"Hello, there!" Father Michel called to them, waving as he approached.

The Laurents looked startled. "Why, Father! How lovely to see you! What are you doing out and about on this fine day?" Suzette smiled.

"Hmmm? Oh, just…uh…running a few errands." He managed to say. "How are you both, and Amêlie?"

"We're doing just fine," replied Monsieur Laurent. "But Amêlie has been very lonely lately. She seems to miss Monsieur Erik very much," he chuckled. "He was giving her piano lessons for a time, but now he has a great deal of work, and his evenings…well, his evenings seem to be rather occupied," he stated with a slight grimace.

"Oh," Father Michel replied, wondering if they had any idea about Erik and Christine. "Yes…yes, he has been quite busy, hasn't he? Well, it was lovely to see you both, but I must be going now," he spoke cheerily, trying to conceal his discomfort at the awkward situation.

"Oh, Father?" Madame Suzette called after him as he was walking away. "Do tell Monsieur Erik that we would love to have him for supper sometime soon…and that he is missed," she smiled warmly.

"I will, Madame!" the old priest called back to her. "See you on Sunday!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine was bored. She didn't know what to do with herself in the dreary shop, and she wanted desperately to be with Erik. She assumed that he was most likely working on his sketches, distracted and probably not thinking of her at the moment.

A knock at the storefront door startled her from her daydreaming. She slowly rose from the kitchen table and called to the door. "I'm sorry, we're closed for the day!"

"Pardon me, but I have a delivery for a Mademoiselle Daae," came the unfamiliar voice on the other side of the door.

Curious, Christine walked to the door and unlocked it, barely cracking it open. A delivery man stood there holding a large box and a note in his hands. He smiled at her as she peered through the slit at him. "Are you Mademoiselle Daae?"

"Y-yes."

"Then these are for you." He held out the items and she opened the door to receive them.

"Thank you."

"Good day, Mademoiselle," he said, tipping his hat and smiling politely.

She closed the door and locked it, staring at the long, white box in her hands. _Are these…roses? Erik! _ She set the box on the table quickly, grinning, and lifted the lid. Her smile turned to confusion at the dozen long-stemmed _yellow_ roses before her. Bewildered, she reached for the note and tore open the envelope. She nearly dropped it as she read:

_My Darling Christine,_

_I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was very unbecoming, and I ask your forgiveness. Please meet me at La Boulangerie du Ciel at three o'clock. I would like to share tea with you and talk a while. Please let me make things right between us. _

_With Love,_

Raoul 

In utter disbelief, she crumpled the note in her hand and tossed it to the floor. "Ohhh!" she grunted in frustration. "How can I ever trust him again? How can he think that I would dare to be alone with him?" She was fuming, until she had an idea. _Meg._

Christine rifled through a small stack of papers and found what she was looking for. Rushing out the door, she clutched the newly acquired address in her hand, praying that Meg was home…and that she would be willing to help a friend in need.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Wait a moment…stop the carriage!" Madame Suzette shouted to her husband, who was seated beside her. Startled, he tapped on the carriage roof to alert his driver.

"Isn't that…Gregoire, do my eyes deceive me? Is that _Christine_?" Suzette stared at the young woman, rushing down the sidewalk wearing a heavy cloak, which appeared to cover a rather plain-looking dress.

Monsieur Laurent stared. "Ma cherie, I do believe you're right—it _is_ Christine Daae! What on earth would she be doing in downtown Paris…_all alone_…and dressed so…_shabbily_?"

Suzette smacked him on the arm. "Gregoire! I do not care _how _she is dressed! She is clearly alone…perhaps something **awful** has happened! Let me out…I need to speak with her."

"Christine? Christine!" Suzette shouted over the crowd of people on the street as she stepped from the carriage.

Christine thought she heard her name being called, but couldn't seem to find its point of origin. She stopped and looked behind her at last, and panic struck her as she looked into the radiant face of Suzette Laurent.

"Christine! How lovely to see you!" Suzette began, panting for breath. "My goodness, I certainly never expected to see _you_ here…all alone." She smiled at Christine and waited for her to speak.

Christine searched for appropriate words. "Hello, Madame! It…it is good to see you, as well! How are you?" _Oh, **God, help me**! I want to run! Get me out of this!_

"We are all well, ma cherie. But you…" Suzette wrinkled her brow. "You look…different, Christine. May I ask why you are here in town alone? Where is the Viscomte?"

Christine bowed her head. She knew that it would come to this eventually. "You have not spoken to Raoul?"

"No…_why_? Has something happened?"

Christine sighed pensively. "I'm afraid so, Madame. I regret to inform you that the Viscomte and I are no longer engaged to be married." _There, I've said it._

Suzette frowned. "Oh, no! That is dreadful news. I'm…I'm so sorry—I don't know what to say. Are you _alright_, Christine?"

"Thank you for your concern, Madame. I am fine. I am employed and I have a place to stay."

"_Really_?" Suzette questioned her, quite shocked that the former fiancée of the Viscomte de Chagny would be able to find employment so quickly. As far as she knew, Christine's only talent was singing.

Christine nodded. "Yes. Well, I really must be going now…but it was lovely to see you again, Madame," she smiled sincerely.

Suzette stepped forward and quickly embraced Christine. "Goodbye, ma cherie. I wish you well. And I hope that we will see each other again."

"Goodbye. And thank you."

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**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews! Keep them coming! I am still writing furiously...the thoughts come more quickly than my fingers can type, unfortunately, and it's difficult to concentrate with two young children in the house! If I have to go down to posting every couple days, I hope you'll all still read! HUGS!


	38. Chapter 38

_Disclaimer: Raoul is a fop. And it isn't my fault! _

** Chapter Thirty-Eight**

"Meg, come with me, **please**!" Christine sat on the divan, clinging to Meg's delicate hands. "I can't go alone!"

"Why, Christine? Surely I would be out of place!" Meg shook her head vigorously, not wishing to observe any kind of tense interaction between Raoul and her best friend.

"No, Meg. I need you to be with me. Raoul can be…very insistent. I do **not** want to be alone with him again!"

Meg narrowed her blue eyes. "You are acting very strangely…did something happen to you yesterday when you left with him?"

Christine shifted her eyes around the room. "I…I would rather not speak of it, Meg."

"Oh, Christine! He didn't _hurt_ you, did he?" Meg gasped in shock. "If Maman and I had thought that he would harm you, we never would have allowed him to escort you home!"

"_Escort me home_?" Christine questioned, confused. "Meg, he took me back to his estate straightaway! Didn't you know that?"

Meg's eyes grew wide. "No! He…he told Maman and I that he would take you to see a physician if you didn't wake immediately. Maman spoke to Madame Annette and told her that you might not return for a while."

"Meg! He **lied** to you…_both_ of you!" Christine cried in disbelief. "He told me that you were aware of his plan to take me to his estate so that his personal physician could examine me! But…I never did see a doctor. And then, Raoul wasn't acting like himself, and I thought it best that I leave." She hated to hide the whole truth from her dearest friend and sister, but she knew that Meg would have been distressed by the very thought of Raoul's behavior.

"Why, I simply cannot understand why Rao—the Viscomte—would lie to us! What reason would he have, Christine?" Meg was innocent in so many ways, and Christine knew that she was smitten with Raoul. She understood all too well. _I was also deceived by his gentlemanly demeanor, wasn't I? But now he has become a dishonest and desperate man…and I have driven him to this_, she thought sadly.

Christine smiled sympathetically at Meg. "Sweet Meg, do you truly not know? He has been trying to win me back ever since I broke our engagement. He has gone to…great lengths…to let me know that he will not be easily ignored."

Meg expression suddenly became resolute. "Then I will go with you, Christine, if you truly feel that you must go. No one should have to be forced into marrying someone with whom they are not in love," she remarked, sounding much more mature than her years.

Christine heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you, dearest Meg! You don't know how much this means to me!" she replied, gratefully embracing the petite blonde.

They wrapped their cloaks around them and headed out the door, both women dreading their meeting at the bakery. Christine silently prayed that somehow, this meeting would settle everything between she and Raoul at last.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Raoul sat in La Boulangerie du Ciel and glanced at his pocket watch. _Ten minutes past three. Perhaps she isn't coming._ Just then, he saw Christine through the window, crossing the street toward the bakery. However, she wasn't alone, and he was surprised--not to mention angry--that Christine would feel the need to bring Meg Giry into a private matter. In keeping with his noble manners, however, he pasted on a smile, trying not to make a tense situation even worse. As the women entered the bakery, he stood and nodded to them, motioning for them to come and sit at his table.

Meg and Christine were both trying to conceal their anxiety when they entered the bakery. Raoul's table was in a far corner, which was more private than the rest of the seating area. However, the establishment was about half-full, and Christine felt as though prying eyes were upon her from the moment she stepped foot inside. _Perhaps I am just being paranoid…or perhaps these people remember me from the Populaire. Either way, I just want this to be over with once and for all!_

"Hello, little Meg," Raoul smiled and kissed her hand. "And good afternoon to you, Christine. Please, both of you, sit down. Can I order something for you?"

"Just tea, please," Christine responded coolly. She shifted her focus to the cloth napkin in front of her, studying the brocade pattern intently. _Anything to take my mind off of what happened between us_, she thought woefully.

Meg ordered a slice of crème cake and some tea, and Raoul ordered coffee for himself. They all sat in awkward silence for several minutes, with only Meg and Raoul making occasional eye contact. At last, he spoke. "I take it you received my flowers?" He looked at Christine hopefully and smiled. She raised her head to meet his gaze with an annoyed expression. "Obviously…or I wouldn't be here, now would I?"

Raoul was incensed. He tensed his jaw, and his face began to turn a light shade of red. "Meg, would you _excuse _us, please?" he asked her through clenched teeth.

"No, she is **staying**," Christine replied firmly. "Anything you wish to say to me, you can say in her presence, Raoul."

"Very well," he smirked. "I would like to discuss what happened between us yesterday afternoon." He gambled on Christine's modesty, believing that she would prefer for Meg to remain ignorant of such sensitive information.

She correctly surmised that he was trying to manipulate her again, and she steeled herself for whatever might result from her reaction. "Fine. Perhaps you would like to tell Meg all of the sordid details yourself?" She raised her eyebrows in a silent challenge and saw the color drain from his face. _He was not expecting that. He still thinks that I am a wilting flower…and he has no idea of how being with Erik has empowered me_, she thought to herself.

Meg blushed, feeling very much out of place. "Per-perhaps I should leave you two alone," she stammered, beginning to rise from her chair. Christine reached out and grasped her arm. "No! Meg, it would be better if you stayed…_please_."

Raoul suddenly felt a rush of sadness and regret. _She fears me so much that she feels the need for a chaperone. Dear God, what have I done? I was only trying to make her see…._ He gently reached out to touch her hand. "Christine, forgive me. If I must speak of personal matters in front of Meg, then so be it. I still love you, Lotte, and the position I put you in yesterday was…regrettable. I was simply trying to make you feel for me the way you claim that you did before." He stared awkwardly at his coffee, which had arrived along with the other orders as Meg had attempted to leave. "I can be a good and loving husband to you, and a friend as well…and the father of your _children_," He glanced uneasily at Meg, who blushed profusely and looked away.

Christine also blushed. "Raoul, I have already told you that I simply cannot go back to the way things were. I know my own heart now, though you seem to think I do not. I know it is difficult to fathom how these changes have occurred within a mere month, but they are real! I…we…have just been through so much, and it has forced me to examine myself, and my life. And what I see, Raoul, is a young, selfish girl who made the wrong decision, simply because it was the safer choice…a young girl who chose her best childhood friend over the man whom she was meant to spend the rest of her life….the man who truly gave everything he had to give." She met his gaze and saw that whatever hope had been present in his eyes before was now gone. "I'm so sorry."

"I see. Well, then I suppose that I have wasted my time, haven't I? No matter what I have tried to show you about that…that _man_ whom you love, you blindly accept him!" He raised his voice and noticed that people were beginning to stare. He leaned forward in his chair and whispered hoarsely. "Perhaps one day you will see, Christine. I just hope for your sake that it isn't too late when you do." He glanced toward the bakery window and his gaze locked on a familiar sight, even as Christine responded.

"I'm…I'm not sure what you mean about it being 'too late', Raoul. If you mean that it could be too late for me to change my mind about marrying you, then…I care deeply for you, Raoul, but that's not going to happen. And I want you to know that I have **not** blindly accepted Erik! I know about his past and I choose to forgive him. It is as simple as that. He is a _changed man_, whether you believe it or not. You do not know him…you have _never_ known him." Christine paused, noticing that he was distracted. She turned toward the window and realized the reason for his curiosity. The Laurents' carriage had parked across the street, but no one had exited.

"Excuse me, Christine. It seems that some of my friends may be outside, and I'd like to speak with them again. Good day to you," he nodded formally and kissed her knuckles. "Meg, it was a pleasure, as always." He strode to the door and stepped out to the sidewalk, intending to speak with whomever was in the carriage. _I wonder if they've heard the news yet_, he questioned. _I hope they won't feel as if their hospitality was abused once they learn of our broken engagement._

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Father Michel entered through the side door of the church, whistling as he walked. When he entered, he didn't see Erik anywhere. He circled around the back of the pews and toward the kitchen. _No Erik. Where could he have gone? Come to think of it…the carriage isn't parked out front._

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Erik had been waiting for a short while when he got the nagging feeling that something was amiss. He had been praying for Christine and for God's direction in his life, but he couldn't rid himself of the sensation that he needed to get out of the church. He left through the side door, leaving the front doors locked, and entered the Laurent carriage by the front curb.

The carriage traveled in slow traffic, and Erik's senses were heightened. He felt like he had when prowling the Opera, and it made him uncomfortable. A few blocks from the church, he directed the driver to turn left down a fairly busy street. There was a bakery on the corner, and for some reason, he was drawn to it. "Pull over across the street," he called to the driver. The carriage came to a halt and Erik waited. Looking to his right out the window, he peered into the bakery, his keen eyes taking in the faces of the patrons. Suddenly, he knew she was there. He could almost feel her presence. His eyes searched each table until they settled on one in the back corner. "Little Giry…" he mumbled to himself. "_Christine_," he murmured breathily, as he saw her auburn waves from behind. Just then, she turned to look out the window in his direction, and Erik saw _him_. "That **boy**," he growled. "What is she doing here with little Giry and that **boy**? He tried to _ravage_ her, for God's sake!" He nearly flung open the carriage door and stormed toward the bakery in broad daylight, but his judgment returned to him before such foolishness could occur. He took a few deep breaths through his nostrils to calm himself. _Think rationally! The last thing I need is to go charging about in downtown Paris!_

Erik closed his eyes for a moment before focusing on the bakery again. He drew in a breath and stared at the storefront in disbelief. _Is that the Viscomte **himself **walking toward my carriage?_

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**A/N:** Thank you so much to my reviewers. I am curious…it seems that there are still many of you reading, but you haven't given feedback in quite some time. Are you still enjoying it? Hating it now? Wishing you could write it yourself so it would get done faster? Those of you that have reviewed lately have really said some encouraging things regarding the character development. Thank you! I'd send LOTS of Erik smooches your way if Leanne would just find Erik's mask and send him HERE already! LOL!


	39. Chapter 39

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom characters. But I do have the right to surprise you sometimes, don't I?_

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

Erik experienced a mixture of fear and rage. Raoul was approaching the Laurent carriage, with no knowledge whatsoever of who was waiting within. _Should I leave? _Erik wondered._ Should I confront him? I have no idea what I should be doing right now!_ He was frustrated…he had never envisioned a meeting with the young Viscomte this way. In his visions, he had always been the one in control, and not the other way around. He found himself praying fervently under his breath for some sort of distraction or way of escape_. If he were to discover me in this carriage, he would know that I live on the Laurent estate, and he would quickly discover where I am employed, and…_ He sighed in exasperation, knowing that everything could be lost in such a situation…including Christine. _I would surely be arrested and possibly executed for my crimes. Please, Lord, help me!_

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Christine watched as Raoul advanced upon the dark carriage belonging to the Laurents. Suddenly a thought dawned on her…when she had last seen the Laurent carriage, it was heading in the opposite direction as if it were leaving town, more than an hour before. _What would that carriage be doing **here**, **now**? Unless…oh, God, **NO**! _ She bolted from her chair and raced out the front door of the bakery, shouting Raoul's name at the top of her lungs. He turned sharply and saw her, as she shot a panicked glance at the carriage. He seemed surprised that she would be pursuing him at all. "Please, Raoul, I…I haven't finished speaking with you yet! I don't want it to end like this! I…I haven't told you of my future plans," she said, loudly enough that she knew Erik would hear her if he were inside the carriage.

Raoul glanced between the carriage and Christine, and after a few seconds, he turned toward her, reaching for her hands. "Alright, Lotte, I will listen," he said, studying her curiously.

"Oh, thank you, Raoul!" She breathed a heavy sigh of relief and they turned back toward the bakery, with Christine shooting a quick glance over her shoulder at the carriage when Raoul was focused elsewhere. She glimpsed a very familiar hand closing the carriage curtain and knew that she had done the right thing.

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Erik stared in amazement as Christine came chasing out of the bakery, her voice shrieking unnaturally as she called out to Raoul. When he saw the way she glanced back at the carriage, he knew that she had distracted the young Viscomte for him. He heard what she said regarding telling Raoul of her "future plans," and he also knew that Meg was with her at the bakery, probably for Christine's peace of mind. At first he wasn't so certain that he _shouldn't_ be angry, but upon analyzing the situation and praying for level-headedness, his anger cooled.

As he watched his Christine and the Viscomte walk away, he closed the carriage curtains and tapped on the roof of the carriage, directing the driver back to the church at once. _It would not be wise to remain here spying and risk being discovered_, he realized.

Upon arrival, he entered again through the church's side door. Father Michel was in the kitchen, humming an off-key tune. For some reason, the sound no longer bothered Erik. It now felt…comforting…to him somehow. He smiled to himself and strode to the alcove curtain, pulling it back quickly. Father Michel jerked in surprise. "Erik! **Must** you always startle me? I am an old man…one day my heart may not be able to stand it!"

Erik smiled at him, chuckling in a low voice. "I have to find _something_ to do around here to keep myself entertained, you know!" He drew in a breath, as if remembering his purpose for the visit. "Father…were you able to…to find the _rings_?"

Father Michel chuckled. "Why, Erik, you are as anxious as a schoolboy! Yes, I have them. I hope that they will be satisfactory." He reached across the countertop and handed Erik the velvet ring boxes, gazing at him hopefully. Erik opened them and set them on the counter facing him, leaning in to study them. The rings the old priest had chosen could not have been more perfect. All were platinum bands…Erik thought that the color was much more flattering to fair skin than brash yellow gold. Christine's engagement ring boasted a single European-cut diamond in the center, flanked by seven tiny diamonds in a line down each side of the band. Erik was relieved to see that it looked nothing like the ring that Raoul had given Christine, which she had, in turn, given to him. He pensively placed a hand on his chest. He had worn that ring around his neck on a chain since the first day that Father Michel had bought him clothing and supplies. He hadn't been able to part with it. He smiled at Father Michel. "It's perfect."

Father Michel breathed a sigh of relief. "And is the wedding band what you imagined it to be?"

Erik had been so busy gazing at the large diamond that he had forgotten about Christine's wedding band, as well as his own. He picked up the middle box and nearly gasped. Her band was exactly what he had pictured: one that looked like foliage and vines interwoven, with tiny diamonds hidden at various points. It reminded him of the roses that he had given to her many times, and he hoped that she would be reminded of him every time she looked upon it. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he could not speak. Father Michel took note of it and spoke softly. "My boy, I hope this means that you are pleased." Erik could only nod. He picked up the last box and studied his own ring. It was a wide, smooth platinum band with no ornamentation, and in the very center there was a blood red, round-cut ruby, flanked by two rectangular baguette diamonds. It was striking to him and he told Father Michel as much. The old priest simply smiled and said, "It made me think of you right away when I saw it."

Erik shook his head in disbelief. "The stone is the _exact _color of the roses that I used to give to Christine after a performance. How did you _know_?"

Father Michel looked astonished. "I…I _didn't_."

Erik grinned. "Well…**He** knew. And you couldn't have chosen more perfect rings for us. Thank you, Father." Erik was so moved that he reached out and embraced the old man without a second thought. He could feel emotion welling up from deep in his belly. "I…I don't know where I would be right now…if it wasn't for you." He pulled back and fixed his watery gaze on Father Michel's face. "You are like the father I never had."

"Oh, Erik, my boy…" Father Michel began, growing emotional himself, "and I thank the Lord that though I will never marry…He has given me a _son_." He patted the side of Erik's face in a fatherly gesture and smiled. They were both silent for a moment until the old priest decided to change the subject. "Well, now, when are you planning to propose?"

"Soon, Father," Erik replied resolutely. "As soon as I am certain that she is ready."

Father Michel looked askance at him. "When she is _ready_? My boy, that young woman is in _love_ with you. She has seen you at your worst and loves you still! How can you say that she is not ready?"

"She…she needs to marry me because she wants **me**, not because she is running from her former fiancé. I refuse to simply be a 'harbor of safety' for her. I want to be so much more than that. And I'm afraid that it may be too soon for her." _He certainly does have a **point**, though, doesn't he?_ Erik realized.

"Oh, Erik! Now you are just being stubborn!" Father Michel chastised him. "What reason do you have to wait? Do you not _love_ each other? Do you not both have the same faith and desire for a family? She has spoken to me of him…and of _you_. My boy, there is no comparison. She needs to feel _safe_ in your arms, yes, but I know that in _her _eyes, you are the one for her."

Erik cocked his head. "So, she spoke to you about him…and _me_?" Father Michel nodded. Erik shook his head. "Well, who am I to argue with _God's servant_?" he chuckled heartily.

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Raoul frowned. "Christine, I would like to be happy for you, but I simply cannot be. You tell me that you plan to marry this…this man, in the near future, and you expect me to share in your joy? I don't even know how to _respond_ to that." He shook his head in confusion.

Christine laid her hand on his. "Raoul, I told you this because I wanted you to know that I value your friendship, but there cannot be anything more between us. I fully intend to marry Erik, and I wanted to be honest with you about it."

"You will marry him, even though he deserves to be executed for his numerous crimes?" She nodded curtly, and he continued. "What if the authorities find him one day, Christine? Where will you be _then_? You will be left without a husband to care for you!"

She sighed pensively. "Raoul, I cannot live my life wondering if bad things are going to happen. God knows that I have had my share of tragedy. I have faith that Christ will see me through whatever may come. He has cared for me all of my life…surely He would not abandon me in a time of great need. But I do hope that you will not be a hindrance to our happiness in any way, Raoul," she frowned. "You have already shown me evidence of his past crimes, and I understand why you did it…but from now on, I must ask you to _please_ respect my decision. I am not a child, and I now know my own heart. Just admitting the truth to myself has caused me to mature as a woman. I could not be a wife to you now, even if I wanted to be, because I have changed…I could never be a proper Viscomtess. You will surely find someone who will love you deeply and be blessed by all that you have to offer, my sweet friend." She reached out to touch his cheek, and he smiled weakly.

"I don't agree with your decision, but…," he studied her face intently, "it seems that you are quite sure of yourself. This is truly a side of you that I hadn't seen before, Lotte. I give you my word of honor that I will not hinder you in any way. But please know, Christine…that I will be here for you if you should ever need me." He looked away, his voice trembling. "I love you." He stood up to leave, and she caught his arm, rising from her seat to draw closer to him.

"Go with God, Raoul." She leaned in and kissed his cheek, resting her forehead near his temple. She pulled away to look at him, cupping his face in her hands. "Adieu, mon ami." He turned away to leave the bakery, and she wiped a few tears from her face. She glanced and nodded at Meg, who had seated herself a few tables away to give them some privacy. They both stood and left the restaurant, locking arms outside and heading for the Girys' flat.

"Are you alright, Christine?" Meg asked tenderly, watching her friend's face closely.

"I think so. I…I don't know," Christine began, tears threatening to spill from her eyes again. "I just hated to hurt him, Meg. He has loved me and I cannot return his love…and I feel truly _awful_ for it. I just couldn't lie to him, though. I had to tell him about my plans to marry Erik. What else could I have _done_?" She looked at Meg expectantly, waiting for her answer.

Meg quickly realized that Christine had not meant for her question to be a rhetorical one. "Oh, Christine, you did the right thing…for _everyone_ involved. And for some reason, I don't think he'll be back to bother you again." She smiled faintly, and Christine brightened. "I hope you're right, Meg. I just want him to find his own happiness."

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**A/N:** A big THANK YOU (is that big enough?) to those who took the time to review. You don't know how much your reviews encourage me! And I hope that a few of you at least, were slightly surprised by the way the "cliffie" from the last chapter turned out. I wrote this chapter several days ago, by the way, well before posting it. All of your comments regarding what you thought might happen were neat to read! Hmmm. Perhaps we should all team up and write a "choose your own adventure" book someday! LOL!


	40. Chapter 40

_Disclaimer: I love Erik. I didn't create him, though…but I still love him! Also, I need to acknowledge G. Giordani for use of his lyrics.  
_

**Chapter Forty**

"Oh, my _goodness_, it's almost time for supper!" Christine gasped, noticing the clock on the mantle. "Erik will be picking me up for Mass this evening…I have to go and get ready! He could be there waiting for me right _now_!" Christine stood abruptly and kissed Meg hurriedly on the cheek. "Forgive me for leaving so quickly…and Meg, I can't thank you enough for what you did for me today!"

"Christine, you're my sister and kindred spirit…I will always be here for you when you need me," Meg smiled warmly.

Christine hurried out the door and down the wooden stairs from the Girys' flat. She had just exited the outside door to the building when a familiar dark carriage pulled up directly in front of her. She smiled as the door opened and a black, gloved hand reached out toward her. She stepped up to the door and peered inside at Erik, who was dressed in his cloak and fedora, looking rather dashing. _He always takes my breath away_, she marveled. "Monsieur, do I _know_ you?" she grinned.

He smiled slyly at her. "Aren't you going to ask me how I knew where to find you?" He grasped her small hand and pulled her inside quickly, closing the door behind her.

"And spoil the mystery? Never!" she giggled. She tried to seat herself opposite him, but Erik had other ideas. He encircled her waist with his arms and pulled her onto the seat next to him, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"Mon amour, you deserve a standing ovation for your performance this afternoon with the Viscomte," he chuckled. "You may very well have saved me from the firing squad."

She glanced at him, annoyed that he would say such a thing. "Erik! Don't speak like that!" She placed her hand on his left cheek. "I don't ever want _anything_ to happen to you." Her eyes glistened with moisture. "And I don't know what came over me this afternoon, or how I knew that it was **you** in that carriage, but…I knew I had to do _something_, or everything we've dreamed of could have been taken from us."

Erik leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Thank you, Christine. You were the answer to my prayers at that very moment…it must have been the Lord who gave you the knowledge and courage to do what you did."

She smiled. "He has blessed us, Erik. Perhaps one day He will bless us even more. Do you believe that He has brought us to this place? I mean, do you think that He has meant for us to be together?"

"How can you even _question_ that, after all we've been through?" he asked her seriously. "And I _know_ that He has great things in store for us. His plan is to give us a future and hope…no matter what else life may bring our way."

Christine snuggled in to him, her head resting against his shoulder. She could smell his cologne…it reminded her of the woods and of spices all at once. She sighed and felt utterly at peace. "Are we off to Mass now?"

"Yes. I told Father Michel that we would sing and play a hymn tonight. He was ecstatic!" he laughed. "We should get there a bit early to practice it once or twice, don't you agree?"

Then it was Christine's turn to laugh. "Erik, you have always been my teacher. Since when do you ask _my _opinion on such matters?"

He tightened his hold on her. "Since I learned that you wished to spend the rest of your life as my _wife_…my partner in all things. Your opinion is very important to me, mon amour." He smiled down at her and kissed her forehead. "But…" he chucked softly, "I'm afraid I _have_ already chosen the song that we are to sing."

"Why am I not surprised?" she laughed, jabbing him lightly in the ribs with her elbow.

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"Oh, thank you, both of you!" Father Michel beamed, as Erik and Christine made ready to leave after Mass. "Your rendering of '_Venez Divin Messie_' was so very uplifting. I find it hard to believe that Christmas is so close at hand! Only a few more weeks and we will celebrate Christ's birth once again!" He shook his head. "It seems strange to me that I have only known you both for a short time. You feel like family to me," he smiled tenderly.

"You _are_ family to us, Father," Erik remarked, glancing at Christine, who nodded as he wrapped his arm about her shoulders. "We shall most likely see you in the morning." He winked at Father Michel and the men exchanged knowing glances.

"Very well, then, my boy. See you tomorrow."

Erik helped Christine with her cloak and they stepped outside to climb into the carriage. "Are you hungry, mon ange? It is getting late, and neither of us have eaten."

Christine thought for a moment. "Yes, I think so. In all my nervousness about singing in the church, I seemed to have forgotten about my stomach's earlier demands."

Erik pulled her close inside the carriage. "You were wonderful, Christine. Now—let's find a café or a bakery and get a few things to take along the way."

"Along the way?" She questioned him, perplexed. "Are we going somewhere?"

He said nothing, but his lips curved upward at the corners and it made her stomach quiver. "Fine, then," she said, feigning annoyance. "If you _loved _me, you wouldn't keep secrets from me." She tried not to giggle, but she couldn't help herself.

"Now, Christine, that is a **horrible** thing to say!" Erik laughed. "I am not Samson, and you most certainly are _not _Delilah! You shall have to wait and see." He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to look mysterious (which, in her opinion, was easy for him to do).

She laughed loudly, attempting to muffle the sound with her hand. "Alright, Erik, alright. I'll humor you this time," she said, poking his ribs again.

After getting some breads, meats and cheeses from a small shop, Christine stepped back into the carriage and they were on their way again. She was nearly bouncing with anticipation, and she clung to the lapels of his jacket beneath his cloak, smiling up at him. "I can't wait to see where you're taking me…you are being so secretive tonight!"

"It isn't far," he remarked, raising an eyebrow at her and trying to remain stoic otherwise. Inside, however, he was trembling. He had planned the entire event days before, but he still felt the need to go over and over it again in his mind.

At last, the carriage turned down a street with which Christine was only slightly familiar. Though she had lived in Paris for many years, her whole life had been the Opera. She felt as if she barely knew her own city. Erik, however, had lurked about in the shadows for many years, even before Christine had been brought to live with the Girys. _I know this place_, he thought. _It was here that I found beauty and a modicum of peace, before I truly knew what peace was._

Les Jardins du Luxembourg were bathed in moonlight already, though it was not late in the evening. The winter days were short, and there was a chill in the air. Some of the flowers there were still clinging to life, though practically covered with frost every night in recent memory. Erik reached up and put his hands over Christine's eyes. She laughed.

"At it again, are we, Erik?"

"I have wanted to bring you here for so many years, Christine. I believe that you will love it here." He kept a firm grip on her as he helped her from the carriage, making sure one hand was still over her eyes, and one around her waist. Erik instructed the driver to wait for them in the same location, and then he led her away. She could hear the soft swish of grass beneath her shoes, and the rustling of the trees in the wind. She shivered, and Erik was attuned to her immediately. "Here, mon ange, come closer to me." He wrapped one side of his cloak around her shoulders, and drew his face near hers. "We are almost there," he whispered.

At last, Christine no longer felt the cushion of the grass beneath her feet, but a hard, flat surface. And she heard something…_water? Where am I?_

Erik spoke in a hushed tone. "The beauty of this place cannot compare to you, Christine, _mon amour_." He removed his hand from her eyes and she was astonished at the sight. A large fountain stood before her, filled with water. A tall, ornamental sculpture loomed behind it, and she thought that it looked familiar. "Erik…where are we?"

"We are in Les Jardins du Luxembourg, mon ange. And this," he said, motioning before them, "is the Médici fountain." He looked upon it fondly, and Christine was enthralled with its design, and the way the moonlight played upon the water. Above their heads, the trees still clung to a few brown leaves, yet most had been swept away by the wind weeks before. Near them were a canal and walkways surrounded by large groupings of flowers. Christine could only make out a few colors in the night…everything was painted in a surreal black and white. _So very much like Erik. No wonder he loves it here. _She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. "Thank you for bringing me here, Erik. It's so beautiful…and tranquil." She smiled up at him and he traced the outline of her face with the fingertips of one hand.

"Mon ange, I…I need to…speak with you about something," Erik stammered anxiously. "I know that we have discussed courting, but I…I just don't think that I can do that now."

Christine pulled away from him, clearly disturbed. "What? Erik, I…I don't understand, I thought that…." Confusion began to well up within her. "Please tell me what you _mean_."

Suddenly, he knelt before her on one knee and pulled a velvet box from under his cloak. He opened it, and the moonlight immediately reflected in the cut diamond of Christine's engagement ring. She gasped and could not hold back her tears of joy. "Oh, Erik," she breathed.

Suddenly his rich tenor filled the air:

_Caro mio ben, Credimi almen, _

_Senza di te languisce il cor. _

_Il tuo fedel sospira ognor_

_Cessa, crudel, tanto rigor!_

_Caro mio ben, credimi almen,_

_Senza di te languisce il cor._

"Lo sposerete?"

Christine was enraptured by the beauty of his voice. She knew the song well…it spoke of love and a languishing heart…but she did not understand the words that he had spoken to her. "Erik…what…"

Her question went unspoken as he looked upon her with a fire in his eyes. "Christina Rosel Daae," he spoke, using her traditional Swedish name, "will you do me the honor of becoming my wife at last?"

She smiled through her tears and dropped to her knees before him, taking his face in her hands. "Erik Durand, I will," she replied simply, leaning into him and kissing him with as much passion and emotion that she felt at that moment. He returned her kiss and for several moments, they were lost in each other. Erik was the first to pull away, and he reached into the small box, retrieving the ring. He reached for her left hand and slid the platinum band to the base of her ring finger. "It looks as though it has always belonged there," Erik said softly.

Christine studied the ring briefly. "It's…it's incredibly beautiful, Erik. But…you shouldn't have purchased such an _expensive_ one for me…I--"

Erik interrupted her. "Ah, now Christine, you are not allowed to tell me how much money I can spend on the woman that I love. After all, you are to become my wife, and I plan to shower you with gifts and roses and anything your heart desires for the rest of our lives," he smiled.

She sighed, shaking her head. "My darling Erik, I don't need any of those things. I just want a simple life…with _you_. _You_ are what I need and desire…not _things_."

"Somehow, I knew you would say that, mon ange," he chuckled. "Now, my future bride, let's go and find a secluded flower garden."

She raised a questioning eyebrow at him. "Erik?"

He burst into laughter at the look on her face. "Mon ange, I don't plan to _seduce_ you here in the gardens! We simply need to find a place to sit and eat our supper." He laughed boisterously for several more seconds, and Christine was sure that she had never heard him laugh so heartily before. It was infectious, and she began to laugh as well. Then a thought dawned on her. "Erik…when _are_ we to be married?" She glanced at him with a mixture of embarrassment and hopefulness.

"I told you that I would not take you as my wife until you were truly ready. Do you believe that you _are_?"

Christine was indignant. "Of **course** I am! I know that I am young, but I am now eighteen years of age and can make my own choices as a woman. What more can I do to prove my love for you, Erik? I have spent every evening with you for nearly a month now, and I have ended my relationship with Raoul. I want to belong to you, as your _wife_. I have waited long enough, don't you think? _Ten years_, even when I didn't even realize what it was that I had been feeling?"

Erik listened intently as she spoke. "You seem determined, Christine…more sure of yourself than I've ever heard you. And yes…I think that ten years is long enough, my darling," he laughed softly. "We will be married as soon as you can choose a gown, and as soon as we can make the arrangements and invite our guests. We shall have to keep it a very small ceremony, of course…but I truly wish that I could give you the magnificent wedding that you deserve in a grand cathedral such as La Madeleine or Nôtre-Dame." He shook his head in frustration.

"Erik, I don't need any grand cathedral. The point of a wedding is not the pomp and circumstance, but the end result. All I need is _you_." Erik marveled again at her love and acceptance. Reflecting upon his upcoming nuptials, he wasn't even certain of what he was feeling. He only knew that he had never been happier in his life. Christine excitedly chattered about the guest list while they ate their light meal.

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The train hissed as it pulled to a stop at the station, and the elderly gentleman stepped on to the platform, grasping the handle of his large carpet bag tightly. _It's been a long time_, he thought. _Far too long. Oh, please let Erik be alright. Great God, hear my prayer…let him be alive._

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**A/N:** Well, I only got one review for the last chapter, for which I am grateful. Are the rest of you upset with me? _-cringes in the corner-_ I know that many of you had expected the confrontation between Raoul and Erik, so I hope that you weren't too disappointed. I just feel like Erik deserves a new start, rather than jail time or execution, don't you agree? And I certainly don't trust Raoul at this point…so I thought it best to keep ol' Raoulie in the dark. Thoughts, please? Anyone? By the way, I'm trying to type furiously again. I had an insane weekend, so I'm sorry I haven't been able to update for a few days. I may be able to get yet another chapter up in a couple days. Don't worry…I won't abandon you, I promise!


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter Forty-One**

The tall, elderly gentleman stood in awed silence before the Opera house, staring at its charred ruins in the moonlight. Coming to his senses, he briskly walked around to the side, looking for the Rue Scribe entrance that he had used so many times before. It appeared to be clear, so he stepped inside and prayed that he would find the way down. The lingering smell of smoke stung his nostrils and it seemed forever before he reached the underground lake. The darkness was thick, and he could hear only the sound of the water lapping at the shore. "Erik?" he whispered into the darkness. "Are you here?" He pulled a match from his breast pocket and struck it. Erik's home looked as if a tornado had wreaked its havoc there. He dropped his traveling bag in shock and quickly stepped to the wall where he knew a torch was usually kept. Lighting it, he hunted for a sign of Erik's whereabouts. He furiously searched behind each doorway he could find, to no avail. _No mask…nothing. Where could he be? Is he even still living here? _He walked slowly back to the organ, picking up sheets of Erik's musical compositions along the way. _Nothing has been touched by the fire down here_, he marveled thankfully. _But apparently someone came here looking for him and decided to do some damage._ He noticed the cracked mirrors and the heavy, brass candlestick lying on the floor in front of them. Slowly and methodically, he began to gather up some of the items left behind that he believed would be of some value to Erik. He placed them in a large drapery that he had ripped from the wall, wrapping them carefully. Trudging back up the same way he had come with an armload in tow, the aging Persian hailed a cab and set out for home, praying that his friend was still alive and well.

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_Dear Monsieur Durand:_

_I have secured your plot of ten acres southwest of the city and executed the transaction agreed upon. I also received your architectural plans and had them immediately delivered to the builders. They first gave an estimate of ten weeks for the project, but reduced it to half the time when I offered them the extra amount that you suggested. Should there be any issues regarding the construction, I will contact you immediately, as you are the architect of the plans. Please contact me immediately if you should need anything. I will be in touch with you regularly to update you on the progress of your new home._

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Philippe Renault_

Erik was pleased to have received a response so quickly, and on a Sunday, no less. Everything was moving along according to plan. He set the letter on the kitchen table and finished his coffee and croissant, knowing that he had to dress for Mass that morning. He had spoken with the Laurents upon returning home late the night before and had arranged to take a separate carriage. He wanted to pick Christine up from the shop and take her with him. _I must be with her, although it could be risky._ _The Laurents will have to find out sometime that we are engaged. After all, we will be married and living in the house on their property for five weeks until our home is completed! _He laughed to himself._ I may be a great magician, but hiding a **wife**…well, that is certainly beyond my skill!_ He looked at the clock, seeing that he would have to dress in a hurry. He went to the bedroom and put on some of his usual cologne. His clothes were neatly hung in the closet, and he selected a handsome black suit and a burgundy cravat. Satisfied that he was presentable, he donned his outdoor clothing and headed to the main house to fetch a carriage.

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"Look! It's Monsieur Erik!" Amêlie squealed with delight. Her father was just about to lift her into the carriage when she caught sight of him rounding the front of the house. "Hello!"

Erik heard Amêlie calling to him and he smiled, waving at her and picking up his pace a bit. _It's been so long since I've seen that lovely girl…I hadn't realized how much I had missed her presence!_ He drew close to Monsieur Laurent and smiled down at Amêlie in his arms. "How are you, Mademoiselle?"

"I am quite well, now that I have finally seen you again!" she beamed at him. "You look well, Monsieur Erik. I have _missed_ our piano lessons," she said, with a slight scold in her voice.

"Ah…yes," Erik replied awkwardly. "I apologize. I have been…very busy and otherwise occupied in town. But I hope that you have been practicing on your own, young songbird," he said, smiling.

"Oh, I most certainly have!" she laughed. "I would hate to disappoint my great teacher!"

Erik smiled at her, embarrassed. _How long it has been since I have been called that!_ "Mademoiselle Amêlie, one can only become great through hard work and perseverance…and by serving the Lord," he winked at her.

"Monsieur Erik," Monsieur Laurent interrupted, "Am I to understand that you will be bringing a guest with you to Mass this morning?"

Erik's expression became solemn. "Yes, Monsieur."

"And…is this person perhaps one with whom you have been spending so much _time_ in the city?" A sly smile began to appear on Monsieur Laurent's face.

Erik nodded. "_Yes_, Monsieur."

"Hmmm. Well, I shall be interested to meet this…guest of yours. A young lady, perhaps?" He settled Amêlie into the carriage, leaving the door open.

"Yes. But…" _Erik wondered what he should say. Should I tell them now, or wait until they see her at Mass? No…there should be no surprises at the church to distract them from the Lord's time._ He swallowed hard. "I believe that you already know her, Monsieur."

"Know who?" Madame Suzette stepped from the front door of the house, smiling.

Erik turned and greeted her politely. "Madame, I was just informing your husband about the guest that I will be bringing with me to Mass today."

"Oh?" She raised her eyebrows quizzically and then seemed to realize that he was speaking of a woman. "Monsieur Erik, do you have a…lady friend?" She smiled teasingly.

"No, Madame…Monsieur. I have a fiancée." He waited for their expressions of shock to surface. They came sooner than he had expected.

"A…a _fiancée_?" Amêlie asked excitedly. "Monsieur Erik, you are to be _married_? Oh, isn't it _lovely_, Maman?"

Monsieur and Madame Laurent simply stood there, mouths gaping.

"Are you both quite alright?" Erik asked them, amused.

"Why…Erik, I…I wish that you would have told us sooner!" Monsieur Laurent stammered. "B-but then, I suppose that you would not have to tell us _any_ of your personal affairs…it's just that…well, I thought that we might have at least _met_ this young lady before she became your fiancée."

Erik cleared his throat. "As I told you before, you _have_ met her."

"We have?" Madame Suzette questioned him, perplexed.

"I wasn't certain of how to give you this news…but let me first say that I have known this young woman for ten years, but I felt that for propriety's sake and because she was promised to another, that I should remain…distant. There is much history between us, but I have loved her for as long as I can remember, and she knows at last, for certain, that she is in love with me. We are to be married very soon, and we would be honored if you would all attend. That is, if you can find it in your hearts to…to understand."

"Monsieur Erik, you act as if we will somehow be angry! Surely you know that we wish for nothing more than your happiness!" Madame Laurent insisted, frowning. "Why would we not understand?"

"Because, Madame," Erik replied softly. "My fiancée is Christine Daae."

"**Christine Daae**!" Monsieur Laurent nearly bellowed. "Christine Daae, the **Viscomte's** fiancée?"

"_Former_ fiancée, mon cher," Suzette corrected him. She turned an emotional gaze to Erik. "Monsieur Erik, may I please ask you a question?"

He nodded slowly, anticipating what was invariably to come. She furrowed her brows, concentrating on reading his face. "Are you the reason for Christine's broken engagement to the Viscomte?"

"Madame, Christine has told me that her feelings were conflicted from the beginning. As I said, she and I had a sort of…teacher-pupil relationship for a number of years, and we both made some rather regrettable mistakes. She did not know her own heart, and I was…well, I was not the man that I am today."

"I see," she replied, though Erik was unsure if she truly understood. "Then you knew her before she came here, to our home, and yet you acted as though you did _not _know her?"

"That is correct, Madame. As I stated, I did so because I knew that she was engaged to be married to another man…the Viscomte. I did not pursue her. She ended her engagement without my direct knowledge, and we met, rather by accident, at the church one evening. We…we had a chance to talk and work things out. And, well…I am happier than I have ever been in my life."

"And how does Christine feel about _you_?" Suzette asked him.

"She has told me…she has said that I am her…her _greatest blessing_. Oh, Madame, the fact that she could love me is just _unbelievable_ to me! You should speak to her yourself, at Mass today. She appreciates very much all that you did for her, but she felt uncomfortable speaking to you of this herself, as you are the friends of her former fiancé."

Monsieur Laurent finally spoke again. "Erik, I don't claim to understand all that has transpired here…but I believe you. I believe that you are a gentleman…otherwise Mademoiselle Daae would surely not willingly have your hand in marriage. We would be honored to attend your wedding, as a family." He smiled timidly at Erik, and held out a hand. Erik grasped it within his own and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you. Thank you all for understanding. I want you to know that we will be living on your property for a short while until our home is ready for us. It should be less than two months."

"Take as long as you need, Erik. You are both welcome here," Monsieur Laurent smiled, and then his expression changed to one of curiosity. "Is the Viscomte aware of this situation?"

"He is aware that we are planning to marry, but he is not aware of how soon. And he is also unaware that I live on your property. I would ask that you protect our privacy, if at all possible…to avoid any…awkwardness, naturally," Erik lied.

"Of course. It is no one's business but your own where you live or work, or what you choose to do with your time. Thank you for trusting us with this…joyous news, Erik." Monsieur Laurent patted him on the back and Madame Suzette pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Amêlie smiled at him from inside the carriage, motioning for him to come closer to her. He leaned in and she threw her arms around his neck, whispering in his ear. "Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you." He smiled and embraced her gently. "He certainly has added many blessings, hasn't he, Mademoiselle?" he said, his eyes twinkling.

"He has indeed," she whispered. "She is wonderful, Monsieur Erik. I hope that you will be very happy." She released him from her grasp and smiled up at him, wrinkling her nose endearingly.

"Well, now, hadn't we best be off to church?" Monsieur Laurent interrupted. "It is getting late."

Erik agreed, and they stepped into separate carriages, driving into town. _That went better than I expected. Lord, you certainly can turn any tense situation around, can't you?_ He chuckled to himself, all the while feeling more than grateful.

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**A/N**: Wow! I didn't mean to guilt so many of you into reviewing…I was just afraid that some of you were utterly disgusted with the "non confontation" of Raoul and Erik.

I'm glad that so many of you enjoyed the proposal. For those of you curious about the English translation to "Caro Mio Ben," that was sung during the proposal, I found these lyrics: _English line-by-line translation © John Glenn Paton_

"Caro mio ben (My dear beloved), credimi almen (believe me at least), senza di te languisce il cor (without you my heart languishes). Il tuo fedel (Your faithful one) sospira ognor (always sighs); Cessa, crudel (cease, cruel one), tanto rigor (so much punishment)!" And then, he says, "Will you marry me?" (Well, it's supposed to say that, but one can never tell with these unreliable translation websites!)

Lucky for him, she decided to cease her "cruel punishment" and agreed to marry him! LOL!


	42. Chapter 42

_Disclaimer: Same as always!_

**Chapter Forty-Two**

The Persian rose early in the morning, finding that he was still exhausted from his train ride from the north of France where he had been taking a respite for nearly six weeks. His servant Darius had not met him at the train station but he had everything waiting for him as he had asked upon his return to his flat on the Rue de Rivoli. He had fully intended to discover Erik's whereabouts the night before, but he saw no sign of him at the Opera. He thought it was likely that Erik had turned to the streets of Paris, but he would not have been able to show his face. Questioning people on the street was not going to get him anywhere, he realized. He attempted to logically deduce which direction Erik might have gone upon leaving the Populaire. _Could he have gotten far? Where might he have gone? Did someone arrest him or take his life? No…surely news like that would have made the front page of the Epoque. _He dressed in haste and hurried down the hallway, wearing dark clothing and a black bowler. He despised the hat, but it made him feel less conspicuous in Parisian society.

"Master, can I get you something?" Darius spoke suddenly, appearing from seemingly nowhere, as he often did.

The Persian was startled. "No…no, Darius, thank you. I have to go out. Has there been any news of Erik this morning?"

"No. But I will be glad to come and help you in your search, if that is your wish."

The old man thought for a moment and rubbed his smooth chin. "Very well. I suppose that two of us will cover ground more quickly than one. Let's be off at once."

Darius bowed and retrieved a dark coat and hat, following his master out of the flat and down the Rue a short way before they hailed a cab. "To the Rue Scribe," he told the driver. The men climbed inside and the Persian spoke to his servant. "I shall cover ground from the Rue Scribe and go east and southeast. You should go west and southwest from the Opera and see if you can find any clues of his whereabouts. We will meet at the small café on the corner of the Rue St. Augustine and the Rue Gaillon at one o'clock for lunch. Buy yourself a newspaper and read through it for clues. I will purchase one for myself as well. Be mindful of your words…phrase any questions carefully. You know what to do." Darius nodded, and soon they had arrived near the Opera on the Rue Scribe. The Persian paid the driver and the two men parted ways after first heading to a newsstand to purchase the latest papers.

The Persian noticed that some of the people on the streets were wearing their very best clothes. _It is Sunday_, he remembered with a hint of disappointment. _It may be difficult to speak to many people today. _He leaned against a brick wall and opened his newspaper, scanning it to check for any clues. He never dreamed he would find one so quickly, but on the gossip page, there was a small mention of Viscomte Raoul de Chagny's broken engagement to one Mademoiselle Christine Daae. The paper viciously went on to say that Mlle. Daae was now, not surprisingly, working as a seamstress' apprentice at a shop in the area of the Nôtre Dame._ If Erik knows of this, would he not pursue her once again? _This thought greatly troubled the Persian, and he set out once more to find a cab.

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Christine was in her room getting ready for church when there was a polite knock at the door. "Come in, Erik," she said, smiling to herself. The door creaked open as she was pulling her white gloves up her arms.

She felt a hand at the small of her back. "Mon ange, you look lovely…but must you cover up your graceful arms?"

She turned to face him, laughing. "Yes, I must, because they not only look elegant…they help my arms to stay warmer in this dreadful cold!" She encircled his waist with her arms and he kissed her hair.

"Ready to go, my fianceé?" he asked her, releasing her and letting his eyes roam over her attire.

"Almost," she said, holding out her necklace to him. "I could use your help with this."

He grasped the dainty necklace and his long, nimble fingers unfastened the tiny clasp. He brought it around her and hooked it at the back of her neck as she lifted her hair. "Thank you," she said, turning around and looking up shyly into his eyes. He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek and brought his lips gently to hers in a kiss.

"Are we ready now?" he whispered to her as he pulled away, his demeanor clearly indicating that he would much rather remain as they were.

"Let's go," she responded softly, taking his arm and following him from the room. They descended the steep staircase and she grasped her heavy cloak, pulling it around her. They exited the back door of the shop as a light snow began to fall.

"Mon ange," he began, as they turned the corner toward the front of the shop where his carriage was parked, "I have something to tell you."

She turned to him with a concerned expression on her face. "_Please_ tell me it isn't bad news…I just don't want to hear any now…not when I am so happy!"

"No," he laughed gently, rubbing the back of her gloved hand. "It's nothing like that. I…I've told the Laurents…about us."

"You _what_?" she gasped, clearly horrified. "But, Erik! They are _Raoul's_ friends! What if they tell him about you? What if he finds you and then you are _arrested_? Oh, Erik, how could you _do_ that?" She grasped the front of his cloak, weeping and near hysterics. It was not at all the reaction that he had anticipated. He put his arms around her shoulders and tried his best to soothe her.

"Christine, please don't cry. It's alright…they have no intention of informing the boy of my location. Monsieur Laurent believes that I have a right to my privacy like any other man." He stroked her shoulders gently. "He told me that we may live in the house on their property for as long as we need to…until our home is ready.

She ceased her weeping and seemed to be relieved. "That is very nice of him. But I am still frightened, Erik, because I…" she paused. "Did-did you say 'until _our home_ is ready?' Mon ange, what does that mean?"

He smiled and embraced her. "I was going to save it for a surprise on our wedding day, but I couldn't wait to tell you…I have designed our home and purchased land, and everything is being built within the next several weeks for us, ma cherie. I have received funds from several investments over the years, and everything is paid for."

"Oh, Erik!" she beamed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "We have a _home_?"

"Yes, mon amour. And I have another surprise for you."

"Is it a _good_ surprise?" she asked, like a child receiving an unexpected gift from a visiting relative.

"Of course," Erik chuckled. "We can be married this week. You just choose the day."

"What?" she nearly shouted with joy, bouncing up on her toes to hug him around his neck. "Oh, my darling! I _love _you!" She kissed his smooth cheek several times before excitedly rattling off her plans. "I will get my dress tomorrow…and I will make adjustments to it myself, if I have to…I want to marry you as soon as possible…tomorrow evening, Erik! Oh, _can_ we?"

"Tomorrow night, then, if that is what your heart desires. I will make arrangements for us. And we must inform our guests today, yes?"

She smiled at him lovingly. "Yes. Yes, my beautiful, wonderful Angel," she gushed. Suddenly, she stared into his eyes with a dreamy gaze. "Tomorrow…tomorrow I shall at last become your wife."

"And I your husband," he whispered, kissing her more passionately this time, before he helped her into the carriage. Just as they were leaving, another dark cab was nearing the curb.

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The Persian caught sight of a carriage leaving from in front of the small shop as his cab turned the corner. He thought that he had seen a tall man dressed in a black cloak and fedora helping a woman into it. Tapping on the roof, he sensed that his search may have come to an end before it had even begun. "Follow that carriage, please," he shouted to the driver.

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Darius sat on a step outside a closed tea room, leafing through his newspaper. There was no news of Erik anywhere on the pages within…but then a headline caught his eye: _Opera Populaire To Be Reconstructed. _He scanned the article for details. _Viscomte de Chagny…Giroux and Associates of Melun…chandelier collapse the night of the Don Juan Triumphant…Opera Ghost remains missing and at large…reward for anyone with information regarding his location._ He noted that all of this had been said in previous issues of the Epoque, except for the fact that Raoul de Chagny would be funding much of the reconstruction and that architects had been hired. He folded the paper into a manageable size and stood, drawing his hat down further over his eyes and lifting the collar of his coat higher on his neck. There was a chill in the air, and it had begun snowing. He continued down the street, peering in the windows of closed shops, thinking that perhaps Sunday was not the best day to begin a search for an incredibly elusive man. He had walked several blocks when he heard the ringing of church bells. Ahead of him, about a quarter of a mile, he glimpsed several carriages letting off their passengers in front of a small church. As he drew nearer, the carriages pulled away…all but one. It sat for several minutes before anyone emerged, as if the passengers were waiting until everyone else was inside the church. At last, the door opened and a tall gentleman, clothed completely in black, exited and pulled his fedora down low over his eyes. He gracefully spun around and reached into the carriage, assisting his female passenger, who was also dressed in a hooded cloak. Darius could not see the woman's face, and as he drew nearer, he watched as the man escorted the woman not to the front entrance, but to the side of the church. As the man and woman turned slightly, Darius was near enough to catch a glimpse of the man's face…or rather, of what was upon his face…a white mask. He stopped immediately in his tracks and slid to the side of the walkway against the shop windows. _It is him…but it cannot be him! The ghost would never enter a church, escorting a woman! _He shook his head, thinking that he must be hallucinating, when suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder from behind. Darius whirled around, ready to strike, when he recognized his master.

"He's here," the Persian spoke, almost disbelieving his own words. "Did you see him, Darius?"

The stunned servant nodded. "He…he went into that church, with a _woman_!"

The Persian narrowed his eyelids. "Something **very** strange is going on…and we need to find out what it is."

Both men grew silent and approached the church, signaling each other once they reached the unassuming building. The Persian went first, slinking down the narrow space between the church and the adjacent building, looking for a side door or some other way of entry. He still couldn't reconcile in his mind that Erik would have willingly walked into a church. Darius followed him at a distance, keeping watch behind and above them for any danger or prying eyes.

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Erik took Christine discreetly to the organ loft and made sure that she was comfortably seated on the step where she could not be seen. He hated to have to live his life in hiding…and he felt that it was terribly unfair to his future wife. _First, it was my face that caused me to seek seclusion, but now I've added the fact that I am a wanted murderer_, he sighed to himself. Suddenly, his senses were heightened, and he felt as though he had been followed. "I'll be back in a few moments, mon ange…you stay here and worship." He smiled reassuringly at her and she nodded.

Stepping gingerly down the staircase, he opened the door at the bottom and turned swiftly, closing the door behind him before he could be seen. He stepped in the shadows to the side entrance of the church and slowly turned the knob, listening.

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The Persian laid his hand on the church's side door and suddenly the knob began to turn. He waved furiously at Darius to get back and hide. Both men dashed behind the door so that whomever opened it would not see them unless they stepped outside…at which point, the person would be in peril if he made one false move.

The door opened slowly, noiselessly, only a quarter of the way, and the two men stood as still as statues, listening.

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_If only I had my lasso_, Erik thought. _If that boy has followed me here, or has sent his henchmen after me, he will surely pay!_ He was seething, but at the same time he was being rebuked again by the internal voice that he had come to know so well. Suddenly, he had an idea. Throwing his voice in a hissing whisper, it bounced off the outside walls of the church and the adjacent building, so that it seemed the voice was everywhere and nowhere at once. "If you want to stay alive, I advise you to leave _now_!"

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A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I will likely post more next week! Blessings to you all, my wonderful readers and reviewers! I appreciate all of you! Thanks to my reviewers for your kind comments!


	43. Chapter 43

_Disclaimer: See previous chapters. Isn't it obvious?_

**Chapter Forty-Three**

Darius and the Persian froze, staring at each other in amazement. _It's him! _The Persian chuckled under his breath nervously, though he was relieved to know that Erik was indeed alive and that he had found him. "_Salām aleikom_, Erik," he whispered in Farsi from behind the door.

The door suddenly swung open, nearly hitting the two men behind it. There stood a clearly stunned Erik, eyes wide, mouth open. He blinked. "_Daroga_?" he whispered, quickly grabbing the doorknob and closing the door again, stepping out into the narrow alleyway. He stood there staring at the Persian for several seconds before it seemed that he actually believed his eyes. "Daroga! Peace be upon you as well, my friend!" Erik exclaimed at last, embracing the Persian tightly before pulling away, slightly embarrassed by his own behavior. He had clearly surprised his old friend. "What on earth are you doing _here_?"

The Persian chuckled. "My friend, I was about to ask you the same question! Obviously, many things have changed since I left on my extended holiday. Your Opera has burned beyond recognition, and here I find you in a church! With a _woman_, no less!"

Erik was overjoyed to see his friend, but realized that he had come back because he had heard of the Populaire's destruction. "I'm sorry, Daroga. I…I wish that you wouldn't have come back solely because of me. I'm afraid I've made more than a mess of things."

"Erik, you are my friend. And for many years, I have felt that you were my responsibility…well, my _burden_, in any case," he laughed. "I am just relieved to see that you are alive and obviously well. I was quite concerned."

Erik smirked. "I'm sure you _were_, Daroga. But you of all people should know that I can take care of myself."

"Oh, _really_?"

"Of course. I only let you help me all those years so that you could feel useful."

The older man snorted. "I see you've retained your sense of humor. But you haven't yet told me what you are doing here. What has been _happening_ in your life, Erik? You…in a **church**? And with a woman who obviously has no desire to run screaming in fright from the sight of you?" he teased him.

"That woman," Erik smiled broadly, "is my fiancée."

It was the Persian's turn to gape in shock. Darius stared as well, remaining silent.

"Something _wrong_, gentlemen? Cat got your tongues?" Erik chuckled amusedly.

The daroga stammered. "N-no, Erik. No…not at all. I…well, I…I just never imagined…" He shook his head and then a thought occurred to him. "She is your _willing_ fiancée?"

A spark of anger flared in Erik. "_Of course_ she is **willing**, Daroga! Do not be so insulting! And she wishes for us to be married tomorrow night."

"I don't mean to be rude," the Persian questioned him, "but how did you meet this woman? The last I knew, you were quite in love with a certain soprano at the Opera. And I do believe that you would have gone to desperate measures to make her stay with you." He looked upon Erik curiously, awaiting a proper explanation.

Erik sighed, shaking his head. "Daroga, I am _still_ quite in love with that soprano. My fiancée is Christine Daae."

The Persian flinched. He was clearly surprised and disturbed by the information. "Erik, my friend…are you certain that this is a…_healthy_ relationship? You have deceived her for half of her life, as the "Angel of Music." Have things truly changed so much in but a month since the fire?" he asked incredulously.

Erik smiled slyly. "You have _no_ idea."

"Clearly, I do not. Shall we go somewhere a bit more private and discuss these matters?"

"I have Mass to attend, Daroga. But if you will meet me outside here in one hour, I would like for you both to join me at home for lunch. Christine will be joining us, and it would give you a chance to speak to her directly." He paused, thinking. "Of course, she has no idea of your _existence_ at this point, or of how much you have assisted me over the years. But I would be pleased if you would both to attend our wedding tomorrow night, if you are able. What do you say? Come and meet my fiancée?" Erik studied the men hopefully.

Darius and the Persian glanced at each other in amazement. _At home? For lunch? The man acts as though this were the most natural thing in the world_, the Persian thought. Darius shrugged, staring at his master. "Very well," the Persian sighed wearily. "We will meet you here in one hour." He shook his head in disbelief as they parted ways with Erik. _He certainly **seems** different somehow_, the Persian thought, _but I hope that he is being truthful about his relationship with the soprano. If she does not truly love him as he seems to believe, then God help us all!_

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Erik and Christine joyfully informed Father Michel of their wedding plans for the following night. He replied that he would be more than happy to perform the ceremony. "Do you wish to have it here, in the church?" he asked them. The couple glanced at each other and seemed to have the same thought. "Yes," they responded simultaneously. Erik grinned. "Father, this is the place where both of us found our way back to each other. It seems like the perfect location."

"Very well. Will it be a traditional Catholic ceremony?" The old priest questioned.

"Father, is there anything about me that you find traditional?" Erik replied, raising one eyebrow in jest.

"No, I suppose not," he smiled. "Are you to have a meal for you and your guests afterward?"

Christine smiled sheepishly. "I suppose we haven't thought about this very thoroughly, Father. Those details haven't been worked out yet. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Leave all of it to me, Mademoiselle. I have a few ideas," Father Michel winked at her. "I will be ready to receive you here at six o'clock tomorrow evening. That should give you time enough to dress before the ceremony, yes?"

"Yes," Christine blushed, glancing at Erik briefly. "I shall need help, so I plan to bring a friend at that time."

"Of course."

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"My darling, we are to have guests for lunch. I have a few things that we can eat…"

"_Guests_, Erik? Who?"

"An old friend of mine, and his servant."

Christine cast him a curious glance as they stepped out of the church's side door into the narrow alleyway. In the shadows, she caught sight of two dark figures standing motionless against the opposite wall. She yelped in fright, but Erik tightened his hold on her arm. "Mon amour, this is my friend, a former Daroga of Persia, and his servant, Darius."

The Persian stepped forward from the shadows and removed his bowler, reaching for her dainty hand. "Mademoiselle Daae, it is a pleasure to meet you at last." He eyed her seriously and she managed a small smile before a look of shock crossed her face. "You…you are _the Persian_!" she gasped. "I have seen you before…at the Opera!"

Erik stepped in front of her then, facing her. "You have _seen_ him?"

"Yes! A few of us have, though it has been quite some time…we were always afraid of him. We never knew why he was there…forgive me, Monsieur, for speaking about you as if you aren't standing here…but he frightened us every time he came out of _nowhere_!"

Erik cast a weary glance at the Persian. "Mon ange, he was most likely there to see me. We have known each other for many years."

Darius then stepped forward and bowed to Christine, saying nothing, and she smiled at him, beginning to relax a bit. "It is lovely to meet you both. I hear that you will be joining us for lunch today…I hope that you will enlighten me on many things about my future husband." She grinned at Erik and took his arm. The Persian and his servant followed behind Erik and Christine as they made their way to the carriage and stepped inside after them.

Erik seated himself next to Christine and the two men sat across from them. The Persian was clearly uncomfortable, and he removed his bowler to rub his balding head. He placed the hat back on and smiled at Christine uneasily. Erik took note of it and spoke in an attempt to relieve the tense silence. "So, Daroga, how was your trip north? Was it restful?"

"Yes. Yes, it was. Thank you for asking. The weather was lovely."

"_Was_ it?" Erik replied, feigning interest. "And did you see any interesting sights?"

Before the Persian could answer, Christine interrupted. "Surely, gentlemen, you are not merely participating in this chit-chat for my benefit? Because I do not like being treated as a child or a fragile flower. I am neither, so you might as well speak whatever is _really_ on your minds." She narrowed her eyes at Erik, trying to look stern. It only served to make him laugh loudly.

The Persian was genuinely surprised to hear Erik's laughter…he was fairly certain that the only similar sound that he had ever heard emanating from Erik's lips was that of his music. He marveled at its joyous timbre. _What on earth has happened to him?_ He could stand the suspense no longer, and since Christine had practically demanded that they speak honestly, he cleared his throat. "Erik, as your fiancée has requested, I would like to speak what is on _my_ mind." Erik motioned gracefully with his hand and nodded slightly to him. The daroga continued. "I must know what has happened to change your situation so drastically…to change _you_ so drastically, my friend."

Erik sighed. "Prepare yourself for a long story, Daroga."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The men spoke seriously about all that had happened in the past two months since the daroga had been away. As they seated themselves at the kitchen table in the guest house, Erik offered the men some tea.

"Do you have black tea or just that wretched stuff that passes for tea in France?" the Persian teased him.

"Black tea?" Christine questioned. "I don't believe I've ever had that. What is it like?"

"Oh, well…it's just a different taste, Mademoiselle. Usually I add a hint of cardamom to mine at home."

Erik spoke up. "Can't abide the stuff myself, but yes, I do happen to have a small amount. Darius, will you take the same?" he asked.

The servant nodded. He hadn't uttered a word since coming into contact with Erik that day. The Persian couldn't understand why. _Perhaps Darius is too shocked by the changes in Erik…or could he still be fearful of him?_

"Christine, I have some Darjeeling here if you'd like…unless you want a cup of what _they're_ having," he smirked and made a face that only she could see, sticking out his tongue and feigning disgust. Christine burst into laughter so abruptly that she startled the other men. "Uh…yes, Erik, I'll just have…whatever _you're_ having."

They all settled around the table then, sipping tea and eating the meats and cheeses that Erik had set out for them. Christine picked at her croissant as she listened to the men talking. "Erik, I am curious about something that you mentioned, and I assume that it is what is truly responsible for this change that I see in you," the Persian began cautiously, trying to avoid sounding argumentative or harsh. "You say that you had an encounter with _God_. How can this be?"

Erik looked slightly surprised. "Why, Daroga, you believe in God, do you not? A good Muslim like you, questioning me about the authenticity of such a statement is just scandalous!" Erik laughed in amusement until he realized that the daroga was not laughing along. He was staring at Erik with gravity. Erik continued carefully then, "I-I don't know quite how to answer that, I'm afraid…The Lord came to me in a vision and I heard his voice and I knew that He had forgiven me. I have trusted in His finished work on the cross and He has cleansed and made me pure in His sight."

The Persian shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Are you saying that you believe that this one whom Christians refer to as the Son of God came and _forgave_ you, without you having to do _anything_ to atone for all of the wrongs that you have committed?" He glanced nervously at Christine, as he was uncertain of how much she knew about Erik's history of violence.

Erik thought for a moment, looking at his friend rather strangely. "Well…yes, I suppose that is what I am saying. How on earth could I **ever** atone for the things that I have done, Daroga? He had to pay the price _for _me. I know that He has changed me because I can see some of those changes myself. What's wrong, Daroga? You act as if something is disturbing you."

"I am a Muslim, Erik. I do not believe that God became a man and atoned for our sins himself. Allah would never…_could_ never…do such a thing. He is God, and he would sully himself if he became like one of us."

"But, doesn't your Muslim holy book mention Jesus Christ?"

"Well, in a way, yes. We believe that he was a great prophet, much like Muhammad. But Allah cannot have a son, Erik. He is not a mortal man."

Erik scratched his chin. "Perhaps I haven't properly understood the vast differences between Islam and Christianity before…Father Michel has many books at the church that would do better to explain everything to you regarding my beliefs. You see, Christ was born of a woman, but His Father was God. He was humanity and yet He was divinity. Father Michel told me that He humbled himself out of His great love for us, knowing that we could never repay the debt that we owed because of our sin. Didn't you know that Christmas is the celebration of God's incarnation here on this earth?"

"Yes, of course I knew, but…that doesn't mean that I believe it. And I certainly never thought that _you_ did, either!"

"I didn't before…and this will be the first Christmas that I have celebrated since I can remember. But His Word resonates in my heart…almost like music…and I know that it is Truth, Daroga. Besides, I simply don't see how any person could _ever _expect to be good enough so as to earn his own salvation. _That_, my friend, is impossible. I know this…when I was in need, He came to me, and when I asked for forgiveness, I actually _felt_ it. It was like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders."

The Persian eyed him curiously. "Well…you certainly are _different_, Erik, I'll grant you that. I have never seen you so full of life before…neither have I seen you at _peace_ before. Perhaps I shall borrow a few of those books you were referring to someday soon," he smiled gently.

"Try reading a Bible, Daroga. It really _isn't_ so bad," he teased him.

"When you have read the Quran, I will consider it."

Erik raised a challenging eyebrow at him. "All those years in Persia, Daroga…how do you know that I _haven't_?"

"Because the man I knew then had no fear of God whatsoever. And he was indeed a hopeless and very _dangerous_ man."

Erik bowed his head. "You can't possibly know how thankful I am for Christ's mercy, Daroga. I should be dead. But here I am, alive, being given a chance at a happy life. It is far more than I will ever deserve."

The Persian reached out and laid a hand on Erik's shoulder. "My friend, I'm sorry…I didn't mean to upset you. If you say that your God brought about this change in you, then I have to believe it. There **is **no other explanation for the man whom I see before me now."

Christine was crying silently, watching this discourse between the strange Persian and her soon-to-be husband. _He is right_, she thought. _The Persian is right. Oh, God_, she prayed silently, _change **me**! If you can change the man that I have loved for so long, then surely You must have a purpose for me as well. I may not have much to offer, but what I have is Yours. I want my husband to be proud to call me his wife, and I want You to be proud to call me Your child. _She wiped the tears from her face with one of her hands, and with the other she grasped one of Erik's. He looked up at her and smiled tenderly. She trembled inside, knowing that the next night, he would be hers completely. _My husband_, she marveled. _And I will belong to him, as well. We will belong to each other, at last, joined in the sight of God._

_----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

**A/N:** A big THANK YOU to my reviewers and readers. I know that some of you are saying "Yay! _Nadir_!" But I feel the need to point out that he isn't referred to that way in Leroux (which I finally finished reading, by the way)…or at least, he isn't in the book that I read! This is why, in my story, he is simply referred to as "the Persian" or "the daroga." (Would the name Nadir happen to be a Susan Kay creation? Anyone?) Still haven't begun reading Kay's novel, but I have it sitting right here next to me. I want to write and not allow her novel to influence this story too terribly much, because I'd rather take from the original and the movie as much as I can. On the note of "taking," a friend of mine recently had some of her fanfiction here plagiarized by another author. It truly upset me to see that. I hope that you, my readers, will alert me if you notice any of my work being plagiarized at any time. Though I refuse to take full credit for the ideas written here (because I know that many ideas have truly come to me through divine inspiration, if you will), the ideas remain mine. Stealing another author's thoughts and "rewriting them" in an attempt to make them "your own" is just a terrible betrayal of trust, in my opinion. Fanfiction authors should not plagiarize other fanfiction authors. Okay, I'm off my soapbox now! I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and I wish you a very happy New Year! I'll _try_ to post another chapter before January 1st!


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter Forty-Four**

Erik and Christine escorted the Persian and his servant back to their flat on the Rue de Rivoli after several hours of conversation. "Erik, Mademoiselle Christine--I am thrilled for you both. Darius and I will plan to attend your nuptials tomorrow evening." He smiled and kissed Christine's knuckles lightly.

"Thank you," she smiled at him. "I am so glad to have met you…you have obviously been a devoted friend to Erik for many years, and I would be honored to have you there."

The Persian turned to Erik. "Should you need me, you know where to find me. Enjoy the last several hours of your bachelor's life, my friend," he teased him. Darius opened the outer building door for his master and the two disappeared inside.

"You had best take me home now, as well," Christine grinned, snuggling close to lean her back against Erik's chest. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a squeeze. "But I wanted you all to myself," he grumbled.

"You shall have me all to yourself after tomorrow night," she reminded him softly. "Until then, you really should not see your bride…it's considered bad luck."

"Well, then, that is one thing I _certainly_ do not need," he snorted. "Alright, I will take you to the shop. We both have much to do tomorrow to prepare. Do you think that Madame Dubois will allow you to go with Meg to find a gown?"

"She won't have a _choice_, frankly," she said with a hint of determination in her voice. "If she refuses, then I shall simply have to quit."

Erik laughed aloud, shocked by her statement. "Christine, you continue to surprise me! You are one determined woman when you want to be!"

"Of course I am…especially when it comes to _you_." She turned slightly, reaching back to caress his cheek. He grasped her hand and kissed her open palm.

"I love you," he whispered into her left ear, reveling in thesensation of her silken curls against his face.

"And I love you," she replied, leaning her head back upon his shoulder. They rode in silence the rest of the way to the shop, both of them secretly smiling to themselves in anticipation of their special day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Good evening…I hope you don't mind that I dropped in unannounced like this," Father Michel smiled as Guillaume escorted him to the Laurents' parlor.

Madame Suzette rose from her armchair and smiled. "Not at all, Father. You are most welcome here anytime."

"Thank you," he bowed. "Madame, I have come to ask a favor of you, and I hope that I am not overstepping my bounds." He hesitated, looking down at his worn black shoes. "I…I am wondering if you have heard about Monsieur Erik's engagement."

"Yes, I have. He informed us early this morning. We plan to attend his wedding to Mademoiselle Daae tomorrow evening." She smiled at him, and Father Michel detected no malice in her voice. He was relieved.

"Madame, I am so glad that you plan to attend…but I wish to ask you if you might consider providing a wedding meal—for after the ceremony. I know that it is short notice, but Erik is…well, Erik is like a son to me, and I want his special day to be a blessing to him and his new wife. I do not have the facilities to provide for his guests—there would be…let's see…ten of us in all, I believe—and I certainly do not have a woman's touch for these sorts of things," he shrugged, a slight blush creeping upward to his cheeks.

Madame Laurent laughed and clapped her hands. "Of course! I would love to! Oh, thank you for asking me…it has been so long since I have been able to plan anything of this sort! Amêlie and I will have great fun choosing the menu and the decorations!"

The old priest was pleasantly surprised by her exuberant reaction. "Yes…and about Amêlie…I was wondering if she might be willing to sing the wedding processional…we have no organist, and certainly Erik should not have to play at his own wedding! She would have to sing unaccompanied…how would you feel about that?"

Madame Laurent blinked in surprise and smiled. "I think it's a marvelous idea! I am sure that she would love to sing…she will be terribly nervous, of course…but for Monsieur Erik, I am certain that she would do it."

"Thank you so much, Madame…you are certain that your husband will find all of this agreeable as well?"

"Oh, Gregoire can be a bit of a stick in the mud at times, but he has always enjoyed social events with new people—after all, _they_ have never heard his _stories_ before," she laughed lightly. "And as for Amêlie…well, he is _very_ proud of his daughter." She winked at him and began to escort him from the room. "We ladies will handle this whole affair. Do not worry about a thing. The only thing the guests need concern themselves with is bringing gifts for the happy couple, of course…and transportation. We have but two carriages, and one is surely to be occupied by the bride and groom, yes?"

"I assume so, Madame. I will leave you to your planning, then." Father Michel smiled happily at her and left for the church, brainstorming different ways that he could help to make Erik's wedding memorable and beautiful.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Morning came quickly, and Christine woke with a tingling feeling in her chest and stomach. _Today is the day!_ She nearly leapt from her bed and dressed hurriedly, knowing that Madame Dubois had not come to rouse her for work. _Perhaps she isn't here yet_, she thought. _Oh, I do hope that she will understand and let me call on Meg today. I need her help! _Then she gasped._ How on earth could I forget something like this? I will need a considerable amount of time off for our honeymoon! Wait a moment…**is** there to be a honeymoon? Surely there will be…. Well, as I said before, if I must quit, then so be it. Nothing will spoil my joy on this day! _She looked around her as she dressed. Sighing with relief, she said aloud, "This is the last day that I shall spend in this tiny room. Goodbye, little closet," she giggled, twirling her dress around her in a circle. "Goodbye, yellowed ceiling! Goodbye creaky floor and bed! Good-" Christine stopped short as there was a knock upon her door. "Yes?" she responded, trying to sound serious.

"Mademoiselle Christine, it's me…Annette."

"Of course…good morning, Madame. You've come to wake me for work, I assume?"

"Actually, may I come in please?"

Christine's face reflected her confusion. "Yes…" she said slowly, going to the door to open it. Madame Dubois stood there before her, a broad smile on her face.

"Come in, if you can find the space…or, perhaps it would be better to talk in the hall or downstairs?" Christine suggested.

"No…it won't take long. I wanted to give you this." Madame Dubois held out a white sealed envelope to Christine. She took it and opened it. Inside she found her first paycheck from a job completely unrelated to the Opera. She was overjoyed. "This is wonderful! Thank you so much, Madame!"

Madame Dubois chuckled. "Don't thank me, dearie…it's _you_ that did all of the work to earn that. Oh, and by the way," she smiled a half-smile, "I heard from Madame Giry early this morning…it seems that you are to be married tonight, yes?"

"Yes," Christine blushed.

"And will you be needing time off to go on your honeymoon?"

"Actually, _yes_, I think so," Christine replied, shocked that the woman had seemingly read her mind.

"Take as much time as you need. You are to be married to that handsome young Viscomte, I assume?"

Christine cringed at the toothy grin on the woman's face. "No, Madame, to someone entirely different. Would you mind giving me the day off so that I might find an appropriate gown?" _Goodness, that was abrupt, wasn't it?_ she laughed to herself.

"Oh, certainly, dearie…go, go!" Madame Dubois waved her thin hand and arm at Christine, who retrieved her cloak and headed outside to hail a cab, shaking her head in amazement.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik had sent out a wedding announcement by messenger to the Girys, who were surprised and pleased to receive it. Meg was a bit sad, however, because the wedding was so soon, and she had hoped to be part of the planning for Christine's special day. She had barely slept the night before, feeling as though she was losing her sister. She sat on her bed that morning, moping when there was a knock at her bedroom door. "Come in," she sighed. Her mother entered, smiling secretively. "Meg, someone is here to see you."

"Me?" Meg questioned her in surprise. She stood and followed her mother out to the sitting room, where Christine stood, beaming at her. "Oh, Meg! I am so excited! I need your help! You don't have plans this morning, do you?" She gazed at her with a worried expression, and Meg couldn't resist giggling.

"You are speaking so quickly, Christine! And no, I don't have any plans…but why do you ask?"

"Because…I need to go and find a bridal gown, and I want my _maid of honor_ to come with me," she smiled slyly at her.

Meg's eyes widened in surprise. "Maid of honor? Oh, Christine! _Thank_ you!" She rushed to her and embraced her tightly. "Your wedding is tonight, yes?" Christine pulled away and nodded. Meg smiled. "I would be honored. Maman? Do you mind?"

"No, of course not. You two have a good time…perhaps you might like to meet me somewhere for lunch?" Madame Giry inquired casually.

They all agreed and made arrangements to meet at the small café where they had been before. The girls left and entered their cab, chattering excitedly as they headed in turn to six different bridal boutiques. "I think I preferred the one at…uh…which boutique was it, Meg?" Christine giggled.

"Oh, it was the one two blocks down on the left, remember? Was it the gown with the matching gloves?"

"No," Christine shook her head. "Erik doesn't like for me to cover my arms," she laughed. "It was the one that draped off the shoulders. And the veil with the wreath of faux flowers and pearls on top, I believe." _I have looked at too many dresses today_, she thought with a sigh of exhaustion. _And it isn't even lunchtime yet!_

"Yes, that one was lovely!" Meg exclaimed. "Oh, Christine, I've just realized…we haven't chosen any flowers! You do want to carry flowers, don't you?"

Christine smiled. "Of course I do…and I'm fairly certain of what kind I will want to purchase." She thought for a moment and continued. "Perhaps I should alsogetone for Erik to wear in his suit. Yes, I think I shall!"

The young women walked arm in arm back to the boutique where Christine tried on the dress again. Luckily, it needed very little adjusting. It was only the hem that needed to be taken up slightly, but Christine was certain that she could do it herself. She made her purchases with some money that Erik had given her and headed to the florist to purchase a bouquet of flowers—plus one, made into a boutonniere for Erik. For his flower, she chose to use a small amount of her own earnings rather than Erik's money.

"Meg, I'd like to find a gift for Erik. Could we go into that book shop there?" Christine pointed across the street, squinting.

"Well, if we don't stay long. It is nearly lunchtime, and we must meet Maman at the café, remember?"

"Oh, yes, of course!" Christine laughed merrily. "I nearly forgot about that. I suppose that I am just focused on…other things."

Fifteen minutes later, Christine left the book shop quite satisfied with her purchase…a copy of Charles Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_. She was quite sure that Erik did not already own it, as he had cared little in the past for anything regarding Christmas or of 'good will' toward men. They had several copies for sale, as it was nearing the Christmas season. She hoped that he would like it…_she_ had enjoyed the story, but Erik was much more particular about the literature he chose to read. _Oh, well, no matter. If he hates it, then I will simply keep the copy for myself! _Meg and Christine decided to head back to the Girys' flat before meeting Meg's mother for lunch, to leave their expensive and very important parcels someplace safe.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik agonized over which suit to wear to his own wedding. He thought about purchasing a white tuxedo, but decided that the white color would likely detract from his beautiful bride. He considered a pin-striped suit, but decided that it would not be formal enough. At last, he settled his mind on the usual black. He sighed, choosing his silvery-gray colored cravat, laying out his garments on the bed. _I just want to be married to the woman I love_, he thought sullenly. _Why must everything be so complicated?_ He prayed silently that their wedding day would be special and that God would help them to weather any storms that may come in the course of life. He was not so foolish as to think that married life would be easy…but he knew that their love had overcome so many things already, and he had confidence that it would overcome whatever may lie ahead. He entered the small front room and sat down on the settee to read his Bible, unable to keep his mind focused on the passage that he had chosen. Flipping through the pages in frustration, he decided to re-read a section of poetry that was of particular interest to him. He reached for a pen and paper and began to jot down several notes. After committing them to memory, he was exhausted, and before he knew it, he had fallen asleep.


	45. Chapter 45

_Disclaimer: More of the same, thank you very much!_

**Chapter Forty-Five**

After dining at the café with Madame Giry, all of the women set out for the Girys' flat. Upon arriving, Christine beamed as she showed her gown to her foster mother. "Do you think that Erik will approve?" she asked sheepishly.

"My dear, Erik would approve of you regardless of what you wore," Madame Giry smiled. "You will be absolutely beautiful. Now, why don't you try to lie down and get a little rest before it is time to go to the church?"

Christine's stomach fluttered. "My goodness…this is really happening, isn't it? I am going to be married tonight!" She stared in awe at Meg and Madame Giry, overcome with emotion. "Am I truly ready for this? What if…what if I'm not a good _wife_ to him, Madame? What if I can't do anything _right_?" She began to cry and soon she felt an arm about her shoulders.

"You love him, yes?"

Christine nodded with her eyes tightly closed.

"And he loves you…and you are committed to each other. All other things will work themselves out in time." Madame Giry chuckled softly. "I remember when I married Meg's father…I had the very same fears."

"You-you _did_?" Christine asked incredulously, looking up into the older woman's face.

"Of course, my dear! If you did not have these fears, then _that_ would cause me to worry! It is perfectly normal to be apprehensive about such things. But you must trust your husband, and you must trust in God. You can do anything you set your mind to, Christine…I have believed that since you were a little girl."

Christine wiped the tears from her cheeks and sniffed. "Thank you."

"Now," Madame Giry directed her, "go and lie down on my bed for a while. I will come and wake you when it is time to go."

Christine complied and fell asleep almost immediately on the soft, down quilt.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Father Michel was sitting in his study when there was a sudden knock upon his door. "Yes?"

"Monsieur, might I have a word with you?" came the male voice on the other side of the door.

Father Michel rose from his armchair and stepped to the door, hoping that he would not regret it. _It could be someone who wishes to rob me, I suppose…but then, I have very little to rob…ah, well, best just get on with it. _He curiously opened the door and was surprised to see a tall, brown-skinned man standing before him. The man removed his hat almost immediately, revealing a nearly bald head.

"May I help you, Monsieur?" the old priest questioned the man.

"I hope so…you are Father Michel, are you not?"

"Yes, I am. And who might you be?" Father Michel smiled.

The man fidgeted nervously. "I…I am a friend of Erik's."

"Oh?" Father Michel eyed the man skeptically. "And why should I believe that?"

The man laughed. "No wonder Erik likes you so much. You truly are _protective_ of him, aren't you?"

Father Michel was stunned at the man's response. "Yes, I'm afraid that I **am** protective of him. Does he need protecting from **you**?" He shot him the fiercest look that he had in his arsenal.

The manlaughed more loudly this time. "Usually, no…it is _I_ who needs to be protected from _him_. But at other times, yes, because sometimes that man needs a good dose of common sense…and I, unfortunately, seem to be doomed to force it down his throat."

Father Michel relaxed a bit and sighed. _Obviously, this man **does** know Erik fairly well._ "Common sense…yes, that _is_ true at times. Well, then…I apologize for my behavior. Won't you please come in, Monsieur…"

"You may call me Daroga. I am accustomed to it, and it is the title by which Erik addresses me."

"Daroga?" Father Michel questioned him curiously.

"Yes…it was my title in my native land…I was a chief of police."

"Ah, I see. Well, then, Daroga, would you care for a cup of tea?"

The Persian held up a hand. "No, no thank you. I just wondered if I might speak with you…about the wedding this evening."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik woke with a start, suddenly remembering an important detail that he had forgotten. He bolted from the settee, glancing at the clock. _Just enough time to do what I need to do…but I shall have to take my suit to the church and dress there if I am to arrive on time._ He quickly gathered his things together, running down a mental checklist of every piece of clothing he needed. He left the items lying on the settee as he threw on his cloak and half-jogged to the main house. Fetching a carriage and driver, he rode back to the guest house and retrieved his clothing, along with a large sum of money. _Surely it will be more than enough_, he surmised.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Christine!" Madame Giry knocked gently on the bedroom door. "My dear, it's time to wake up. We need to leave soon."

Christine stretched and yawned, feeling as though she had barely been asleep, even though she was refreshed. Suddenly, she realized that she had forgotten to hem her gown. "Oh, no!" She jumped from the bed and threw open the door, startling Meg in the hallway.

"Christine, what's wrong?" Meg asked, alarmed.

"Oh, Meg, I'm so foolish!" she cried, in a panic. "I've gone and taken a nap, and I've forgotten to hem my gown!"

"Hmmm," Meg replied, furrowing her brow in deep thought. "Do you think that Madame Dubois would be able to hem it on her machine quickly if we went there now?"

Christine drew in a breath. "Meg! That just might work!" She walked briskly to the sitting room and lifted her gown from the settee, smoothing it out. "Madame, we have to go now…I need to ask Madame Dubois for a favor."

"Very well, my dear. Do you have your shoes, and cosmetics…and everything else that you will need?" Madame Giry inquired of her.

"Oh!" Christine cried, feeling very much in a tizzy.

"I'll get them, Christine. Just go and fetch a cab with Maman," Meg said, patting Christine's arm gently to calm her. "I'll be right down."

Christine followed Madame Giry from the apartment and Meg quickly gathered Christine's things. Nearing the door, she stopped suddenly, remembering that she needed her own dress to wear. She walked briskly to her bedroom and threw open her wardrobe, selecting a lovely frock that she had once worn to a Bal Masque at the Opera. "This will have to do," she said resolutely, gathering her shoes and leaving the apartment, locking the door behind her.

The ladies would have ridden to the shop in complete silence if Meg had not found it to be so terribly awkward. She nervously prattled on and on, trying to take Christine's mind off of her nervousness, but she only served to heighten it. Christine did not have the heart to tell her. She smiled politely at Meg, all the while feeling as though she were about to vomit.

Finally, they arrived at the shop and Madame Dubois had Christine try on the dress so that she could pin it up to hem. The ladies smiled broadly when she walked out wearing it. Madame Dubois was the first to see her enter the room. "Oh, Mademoiselle Christine! You look lovely!"

Madame Giry turned around and smiled. "Yes, my dear, you look _wonderful_. Now, we must hurry! You don't want to keep Erik waiting."

"Erik?" Madame Dubois asked, trying to seem nonchalant. Christine knew, however, that she was attempting to glean any tidbits of information that she could from them.

"Yes. _Erik_," Christine answered abruptly. "That is my fiancé's name. Now, could we hurry, please? This dress must be ready within minutes if I am to make it to the church so that I can get ready!"

Madame Giry shushed her. "Now, Christine, we all know that you are nervous…but let's not be rude about it. I'm sure that Annette is doing the best she can."

Madame Dubois pinned up the hem and Christine rushed back to the dressing room to slip out of the gown. She handed it out the door to Meg, who passed it on to Madame Dubois while Christine dressed in her everyday attire again. When she exited the room, Meg smiled at her. "It's almost finished," she whispered. Christine was perspiring from all of the rushing around, not to mention from nerves. Her hands were cold and clammy, but the rest of her body felt entirely too warm.

At last, Madame Dubois announced that the gown was ready, and Christine thanked her politely. "I appreciate your help, Madame. I apologize for my behavior…I am just so terribly nervous tonight."

"I understand, dearie," the woman chuckled. "I _am_ a married woman, you know…and if I recall correctly, I was completely unable to swallow a morsel of food on _my_ wedding day!" She laughed and Christine forced herself to smile politely.

Waving goodbye to Madame Dubois, they entered the waiting cab outside the shop. They rode along for several minutes before the church was in view, and Meg reassuringly grasped Christine's hand. "Everything is going to be _perfect_, Christine. You'll see." She smiled sweetly at her, and Christine breathed deeply to calm herself as the cab pulled to a stop in front of its destination.

Father Michel greeted the women as they entered the church. "Right on time, I see! You may use the rooms upstairs," he remarked, pointing at the stairwell. "If you need me, I shall be in my study for a short while yet." He smiled at Christine and began to turn away when he suddenly remembered something and turned again to face her. "I nearly forgot, Mademoiselle Christine…will you be singing a song for the ceremony?"

Christine's eyes widened. "Is-is that sort of thing…allowed?"

"Why, of course!" the old priest smiled. "Well, here in my church it is. The way I see it, this is your special day, and you should have a part in the way it unfolds. So, what do you say?"

"I believe…" she blushed. "I believe that Erik would like that. But…you have no organist, Father, save Erik. Am I to sing a cappella?"

He sighed. "Yes. But to be truthful, your voice _needs_ no accompaniment, Mademoiselle. I will call on you during the ceremony and you can sing at that time. Does that suit you?" He smiled at her gently, his eyes sparkling.

"That will be fine…but, Father…if I should become too emotional or nervous to sing, I will trust you to simply move on with the ceremony.,_please_!" she laughed. "Is that alright with you?"

"Of course. Do you wish to have a wedding Mass also, or a simple ceremony?"

"I am certain that Erik would prefer a shorter ceremony, if you don't mind." she laughed nervously.

He nodded. "Ah, well, I figured as much. That will be fine. You should probably get ready now…Erik will be here soon, and you don't want him to see you before you come down the aisle!"

Christine gasped. "The aisle! I…I have no one to give me away. Am I to walk down the aisle alone?" Her lip trembled slightly, wishing that her beloved father were there to give her away.

"You can if you'd like, but you could also have a friend or family member escort you," Father Michel suggested.

Christine turned to face her foster mother. "Madame, would…would _you_ give me away? You have been like a mother to me, and you are the nearest thing I have to family."

Madame Giry's eyes began to fill with tears. "Of _course_, my dear…I would be so very honored."

"Well, very good, then. Now off you go!" Father Michel said, ushering the women from the sanctuary as quickly as they would go. Christine suddenly turned to face him, surprising him a bit. "Oh! Father, I almost forgot…would you please give this to Erik and ask him to wear it? Please _don't _tell him that it was from me," she smiled secretively at him, handing him a red rose bouttoniére. He nodded in understanding and shooed them out at last, mere moments before Erik arrived, carrying his belongings with him.

"Father," he smiled, slightly out of breath. "Has my blushing bride arrived yet?"

The old priest tried to remain stoic, hiding the bouttoniére behind his back. "That, my son, should remain a mystery for now."

Erik laughed. "Apparently, she _has_."

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**A/N:** Happy New Year! Thank you to everyone for your kind reviews! I am trying to write as quickly as I can, but I want to make certain that there are no holes in my plot, or huge unanswered questions. Those are just the worst!LOL! Thanks for reading, and please review, everyone!


	46. Chapter 46

_Disclaimer:I want to acknowledge J.S. Bach for the incredibly beautiful song contained herein. And thank you to Leroux, etc. for the best characters on the planet!_

**Chapter Forty-Six**

The guests began to arrive, seating themselves in the first two rows on each side of the center aisle. Father Michel took the time to introduce the Persian and his servant to the Laurents, and pleasantries were exchanged.

"Are you ready to sing, Mademoiselle?" Father Michel whispered to Amêlie, smiling.

She sighed deeply, trying to calm herself. "I certainly hope so! I am a little nervous, Father…but I want to do this…for Monsieur Erik and Mademoiselle Christine."

He patted her on the shoulder. "Child, you are a blessing." She smiled up at him, her eyesswimming with tears. "Thank you," she answered sheepishly.

The daroga discreetly studiedSuzette Laurent for a moment. "Madame, may I ask a favor of you?" he asked her in a hushed tone. She glanced at him curiously, hesitating before she answered. "Yes…." He held out to her a long scarf of white silk and smiled as he explained a wedding tradition of his homeland. She returned the smile and nodded, taking the scarf. "Of course…I would be happy to help." He bowed slightly to her, turning then to his servant, Darius.

"Do you have it?" the Persian whispered.

"Everything is already in place, Master," Darius explained, motioning with his arm to the small, decorated table near the altar. The Persian glanced at the table, settling his eyes on a small cup placed near the center, between two squat candelabras and to the left of an open Bible. He smiled satisfactorily as he took his seat.

Monsieur Laurent placed Amêlie up on a wooden stool to the far left of the altar area and helped her to adjust her gossamer wrap around her shoulders. He became emotional as he looked upon his daughter. She was not a small girl anymore…she had the beginnings of womanhood about her. _Most of all_, he thought, _her heart is pure and full of love. _He was so very proud of her. She grinned at her father and he gave her a wink of encouragement. Everyone sat quietly, waiting for a signal that the ceremony was about to begin.

Erik paced nervously in Father Michel's study, waiting for the priest to enter. Father Michel had stepped out to greet the wedding guests and had not yet returned to begin the ceremony. _Where is he? Is Christine ready? What if I forget what I'm expected to say?_ He began to sweat and had to remove his mask to dab at the perspiration on his forehead. Suddenly, Father Michel opened the door and entered. Erik turned away quickly,replacing his mask.

"I'm sorry, Erik…I hope I didn't startle you," the old priestapologized sincerely.

Erik snorted. "Well, I suppose I deserved it."

Father Michel looked at him quizzically for a moment before a look of acknowledgement came over his face. "Ah…yes, I suppose you did," he laughed lightheartedly. "You've given me quite a fright on more than one occasion, haven't you?"

Erik laughed for a moment before his thoughts returned to the ceremony at hand. "Father," he spoke thoughtfully, "I have a few concerns."

The old priest smiled. "First, let me pin this on your coat. No groom would be properly dressed without one of these," he said softly, securing the rose to Erik's lapel. Erik stared down at it in surprise, but he remained silent. "Now, back to your concerns…my dear boy, if you didn't have them, then you wouldn't be human. But now is really not the time to discuss them…your bride will be downstairs in moments."

Erik bit the inside of his cheek. "That's…that's what I'm concerned about. She is going to be my bride, my _wife_. That is a responsibility like none I have shouldered before. What if I am not the kind of husband that she needs me to be?" He shot a worried glance at the priest before staring down at his shoes.

"Erik," Father Michel began softly, placing his hand on Erik's shoulder, "She will not be your burden…she will be your partner, your helpmate. And if you love her as Christ has loved you, then you will be exactly what she needs, my son. Keep your relationship with the Lord at the center of your life, and lead your wife to do the same. Everything beyond that is in the Lord's hands. Trust Him with your life and your marriage, Erik."

Erik met his gaze. "Thank you, Father," he spoke with more confidence in his voice. "Please…would you pray now?"

Father Michel nodded and drew his arms around Erik, invoking blessings upon the couple. His voice was strong and sure, and Erik took every word to heart. Finally, Father Michel patted Erik's arm. "Ready to go?"

"Yes, Father. I'm ready now."

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"I need help pinning this! Quickly!" Christine's voice trembled as she beckoned Madame Giry to her side. "I can't seem to get it to stay on." She frowned at herself in the mirror as she held her veil.

Madame Giry strode to her briskly. "Don't worry, my dear, we'll see to it. Hold still."

She had Christine's veil atop her head in moments, pinned to perfection. "Finished."

Christine smiled and closed her eyes, relieved. "Thank you." She stood and turned around to face Meg, who was dressed and ready to go, looking beautiful in her own right. "Meg, you look lovely. I am so glad that you're here with me." She reached out to tightly grasp her hand.

"Christine, I have never seen a more radiant bride. Honestly," Meg gushed, tears brimming in her eyes. "May God bless you on this day and every day," she smiled. "Now try not to cry during the ceremony, or your cosmetics will be ruined," she teased her.

"Well, then I suppose they will be ruined," Christine laughed merrily. "How can I keep from crying on the happiest day of my life?"

"It's time, my dear," Madame Giry said softly, touching Christine on the arm. "Are you certain that you're ready?"

"I know that I want to be Erik's wife more than anything, Madame…yes, I'm ready." She nodded resolutely as Madame Giry and Meg led her halfway down the wooden stairs to wait until it was her time to enter.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik walked toward the altar area, following Father Michel. His palms grew clammy as he caught sight of the very small gathering of witnesses. He tried to smile at Monsieur Laurent as he caught his eye, but all he found that he could do was nod at him rather formally. The daroga stood, falling into step behind Erik in line as he passed by. Erik glanced ahead and was surprised to see Amêlie seated on a stool near the altar area. _She looks absolutely lovely_, he marveled, and he smiled at her. _Why is she seated here? She must have a role in the ceremony,_ Erik realized with delight. She smiled back at him and blushed nervously. Father Michel and Erik took their places, and the daroga moved to stand silently behind Erik. Meg peered out of the upstairs door to signal their readiness, and Father Michel nodded at Amêlie to begin. She swallowed and drew in a deep breath, sitting up as tall as she was able. Her voice rang out, clear and sweet, as she sang:

_Jesu, joy of man's desiring,  
Holy wisdom, love most bright…_

Erik smiled at Amêlie proudly as she began to sing. Slowly, he turned toward the aisle and saw several tall, lit candelabras lining each side. Meg stepped out from the doorway to the upstairs and began to glide gracefully toward the center aisle, smiling as she came. In her hands, she clutched a single red rose. Erik was a little surprised to see his former trademark flower for the second time that day. Then again, he had no idea _what_ he should expect.

_  
Drawn by Thee, our souls aspiring  
Soar to uncreated light.  
Word of God, our flesh that fashioned,  
With the fire of life impassioned,  
Striving still to truth unknown,  
Soaring, dying round Thy throne._

Meg arrived at last at the front altar and stood at the bottom of three steps. Erik nodded at her politely and she returneda smile with nervousness, suddenly finding it strange that the Opera Ghost was standing here as a groom, like any "normal" man. She turned toward the upstairs door again as young Amêlie began the second verse:

_Through the way where hope is guiding,  
Hark, what peaceful music rings…_

Madame Giry opened the door, holding her hand out for Christine. The younger woman took it and stepped out, trembling. She smiled self-consciously at her foster mother, who linked arms with her as they headed toward the center aisle.

_Where the flock, in Thee confiding,  
Drink of joy from deathless springs.  
Theirs is beauty's fairest pleasure;  
Theirs is wisdom's holiest treasure._

Time seemed to stop momentarily as Christine reached the aisle and Erik feasted his eyes upon his bride. She was a vision in shimmering white, her veil slightly obscuring her face. Her auburn waves were loose and flowing freely about her exposed shoulders, and a lump formed in his dry throat at the sight of her. She seemed to glow in the candlelight, appearing more beautiful and angelic than he had ever dreamed. His eyes were drawn to her waist, where she clutched a bouquet of several deep red roses. He nearly gasped as he noticed that they were tied round with a large, thick, black ribbon. He had thought at one time that she might wish to forget such a symbol of their past, but to his immense delight, she had embraced it fully.

_Thou dost ever lead Thine own  
In the love of joys unknown._

Tears sprang to his eyes. _Oh, Lord, can this be happening? Is this pure and lovely creature truly to be my bride at last? I don't deserve her…but I pray that this is not a dream! _His heart felt as though it were about to burst when Christine's eyes met his as Madame Giry stopped a few feet from him. She glanced at Father Michel and waited. Erik could not tear his eyes from Christine's radiant countenance.

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" Erik heard Father Michel speak, startling him from his reverie.

"I do," Madame Giry replied, turning and lifting Christine's veil, and placing a light kiss upon her cheek. She gently lay the veil over her face again and smiled. Erik took a timid step toward them and Madame Giry took Christine's arm, placing it within Erik's. He gazed down at his bride in wonder and love as her eyes roamed over his face, taking in every shadow and nuance that looked so incredibly surreal in the candlelight. Erik's white mask seemed to glow, and his entire appearance nearly left her breathless. Christine shyly turned her gaze from him, realizing that he was now smiling at her, his full lips curved slightly upward at the corners. She shivered at the emotion that coursed through her at that moment. Her pulse quickened and her mouth went completely dry as she silently prayed that her knees would not give way during the ceremony.

Erik led Christine forward as Father Michel beckoned them to come up to the second of the three steps at the altar area. Christine turned quickly before they approached, handing Meg her bouquet of roses. Madame Laurent stood from her seat and leaned over to Madame Giry. "I need your help with something," she whispered to her. "It's a Persian tradition." The older woman was slightly put-off by this unexpected recruitment, but she graciously stood and took one end of the white silk scarf from Madame Laurent. Suzette continued to hold the other end tightly, and the ladies stood on the top step on either side of Father Michel, Madame Giry on the bride's side and Madame Suzette on the groom's. They stretched out the scarf and held it at waist level, awaiting some sort of cue from the Persian.

Erik turned to the daroga beside him as the ladies approached, and shot him a puzzled glance. The elderly man simply raised his eyebrows at Erik and smirked, shifting his weight awkwardly.

"Friends and loved ones," Father Michel began warmly, "we are gathered here this evening to witness the joining of Erik and Christine in holy matrimony. These two hearts have been through many trials and tribulations to arrive at this point, and we rejoice with them as they have at last found love with each other and peace with God. Marriage is a true and lasting covenant that is not to be entered into lightly. It is a commitment to remain true to another person for a lifetime. Erik and Christine, I charge you to remember this at all times, no matter what may occur. As our Lord Jesus Christ said, 'In this world, you will have trouble, but take heart, for I have overcome the world.' He has given you to each other so that you might be an example of His love. You can do all things through Christ, and together as husband and wife, you can overcome anything." He turned his attention to Erik then, raising his eyebrows. "Would you both please join hands at this time?"

They did so, and Erik's chest seemed to tighten as he gazed into the face of his beloved. His thoughts swam with memories of her, of her voice, her touch, her kiss…and his mind began to wander to thoughts of what their wedding night might be like. He suddenly felt ashamed of himself, and his cheeks reddened. Christine noticed it and smiled abashedly at him, as if she herself had been thinking the same thing. Father Michel was speaking something about "husbands loving their wives and wives loving their husbands" but neither Erik nor Christine was able to concentrate on his words.

After a few moments, Father Michel addressed the daroga and Erik snapped back to attention as the Persian moved to stand next to the priest. Carefully lifting the Bible from the small table in the center, he read the passage to where it had been opened. However, he read it in Farsi first, and the wedding guests listened in awe to the strange tongue without understanding what was being read. Erik alone understood him, and tears began to fill his eyes, not only because of the words that his friend was reading, but because he was reading from the Bible…_he_, a devout Muslim. Erik knew that the Persian was doing such a thing out of a great love for him, and it moved him immensely. After several seconds of this, he began to speak so that others could understand, though with a heavy accent. "In the Holy Bible, in the book of First Corinthians, Chapter Thirteen, it reads: "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends."

He closed the Bible gently, placed it back on the small table and returned to his place behind Erik, meeting his friend's eyes for a split second as he did so. It was long enough for Erik to see that the daroga was becoming emotional. Erik turned his gaze back to Christine and smiled tenderly, seeing that she also had been moved by the reading. He squeezed her hands gently, caressing them with his thumbs. _Love,_ he mused. _Real love…something I've never had before…until now. Help me, God, to truly love this woman who now stands before me, unselfishly and completely._

The Persian motioned to the ladies holding the silk scarf and they raised it up high, over the heads of Erik and Christine. Christine did not understand the gesture, but she was certain that Erik did by the way his eyes began to moisten again when he saw the scarf being lifted. He leaned forward slightly and whispered to her as softly as he could, "a Persian blessing." She nodded and smiled admiringly at her husband-to-be. Attending a Persian wedding had been one of the few things that Erik recalled fondly from his time spent there. Their ceremonies were always so beautiful…so intimate and symbolic. At the time, he did not think so…but now, things were very different. This was _his_ wedding.

"You will now exchange your vows." Father Michel gave Erik a slight smile as he turned to him. "Erik, will you have this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to keep yourself only for her, to love her sacrificially as Christ loved the Church, to honor and cherish her from this day forward, in plenty and in want, in sickness and in health, until death shall separate you?"

"I will," Erik answered with a lump in his throat. He lost himself in Christine's deep brown eyes as he listened intently to every word that Father Michel spoke, and he meant it with his whole heart when he made his promise to Christine before God.

Father Michel nodded and turned to Christine. He gave her an encouraging wink as he began. "Christine, will you have this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to keep yourself only for him, to love him and submit to him as you would to Christ, to honor him and be apillar of supportto him from this day forward, in plenty and in want, in sickness and in health, until death shall separate you?"

Christine's mind was racing. _Please, help me, Lord, to do all that I promise here today._ "I will," she answered, all the while watching Erik's expression of indescribable pleasure at her response.

Father Michel smiled and turned to the Persian. "Do you have the rings?" The daroga stepped forward and pulled the two platinum bands from his breast pocket. He handed them to the priest and stepped back. "Erik, take Christine's left hand and repeat after me, please." He held out the small band and Erik took it, praying that he would be able to keep his grasp on it in his moist hands.

Erik held the ring before Christine's finger and studied her face beneath the veil. She gasped at the beauty of the band, which resembled vines interwoven. It reminded her of the roses that Erik had always given her, just as he had hoped. Father Michel began, "With this ring, I wed you, and all my worldly goods I give to you; In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost; Amen." Erik repeated the vow and slid the ring gently on to Christine's petite finger. She gazed at him in awe, a single tear releasing to slide down her cheek.

Father Michel turned to Christine and handed her Erik's platinum band. She turned it in her fingers carefully. _It's perfect…it suits him wonderfully._ She looked at his face and saw that he was gazing at her intently. She blinked her tears back and repeated after Father Michel the same vow that Erik had spoken. She slid the handsome ring on to his finger and grasped both of his hands tightly.

"Erik?" Father Michel smiled. "I believe you wished to say something to Christine?" Erik nodded, taking a deep breath and gazing lovingly at his bride. "King Solomon said, 'Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like a blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away.'" He paused for a moment as a look of recognition crossed Christine's face. She glanced at Father Michel, who was smiling humbly. Erik continued, "Christine, we have been through many waters and rivers, and our love is stronger than ever. I thought once that I had lost you forever, and that death would have been welcome. But I thank the Lord that He redeemed my life and brought us together again. I pray that our love will grow stronger over the course of our lives, and that it will burn brightly even into eternity." Christine began to cry and raised her hand to caress his cheek. He rested his face against it, and reached up to grasp her fingers. "I love you with all that is in me. And though I will never be worthy of it, I thank you for loving me in return."

Father Michel nodded and turned to Christine. "Christine, is there something that you would like to say to Erik?" She swallowed hard and her mind immediately went blank. She prayed to remember what she had meant to say, but nothing came. At last she began, faltering slightly. "Erik, you have been my teacher, my friend, my encourager, and my love. I am so thankful for you…and for a second chance to choose a life with you. Once…once you were in darkness, but now you walk in the light, my Angel. I choose to go with you, wherever you go. I thank the Lord for our love, and I give Him praise this day." She drew in a breath and lifted her chin slightly. Erik held her hands in anticipation as he realized what she was about to do.

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A/N: Hmmm...what's she gonna do? Oh, you already know, don't you? Yes, the next chapter will be a continuation of the ceremony. And after that...well, what usually comes after a wedding? Hmmm...I'm thinking, I'm thinking...nope, no idea.-grins- Thanks to those of you who reviewed. I appreciate it, truly. It's so encouraging! I'm showing a lot of hits, but only a few reviews. I've noticed that the "M" rated fics usually get a lot more reviews. Just found it interesting, that's all. Come on, you "T" rated readers! Come on! You can do it! Review! -smiles-


	47. Chapter 47

_Disclaimer: The song herein was composed by Cesar Frank, and the lyrics are actually not a direct translation, but a Protestant interpretation of the lyrics (whatever that means)._

_A/N: This is the continuation of the wedding. Enjoy!_

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

Closing her eyes, Christine released her first note tentatively, but her voice became stronger as she continued.

_O, Lord most Holy, O, Lord Almighty, _

_Father Omnipotent, we bring to Thee our praise._

_Help us to know Thee, know Thee and love Thee; _

_Father, Father, grant us Thy truth and grace; _

_Father, Father, guide and defend us._

Erik held her trembling hands as she sang, and he was filled with sheer ecstasy at the sound of her angelic voice. He tightened his grip slightly, as if to give some of his strength to her, as she began the second verse. Suddenly, Christine heard Erik's rich and alluring voice ringing out with hers:

_Rule in our willful hearts, _

_Guide Thou our wand'ring thoughts;_

_In all our sorrows let us find our rest in Thee; _

_And in temptation's hour, Save by Thy mighty power, _

_Thy help send us; hear us in mercy._

_Show Thy favor, _

_As we live and sing praise to Thee._

There was a holy hush in the sanctuary as Erik and Christine's perfectly meshed voices faded out to a whisper. Father Michel quietly and reverently spoke. "Let us pray. Our most gracious Heavenly Father, we thank you for Your sweet presence here tonight at this very moment. We commend to Your hands Erik and Christine as they embark upon this journey of life together. Go with them, Lord, and keep them in all of their ways. May they glorify You in all that is said and done in their home. Bless them and keep them safe, and bring them the peace and joy that can only be found in fulfilling Your perfect will for their lives and marriage. In Christ's holy name we pray, Amen."

"Amen," the guests echoed.

Father Michel turned slightly and picked up the small cup from the table near him. "In keeping with Persian custom, the couple will each dip their smallest finger into this cup of honey and feed it to the other."

The bride and groom each stretched a hand toward the cup, dipping their pinky fingers into the sticky golden substance. They reached toward each other and did as they were instructed. Christine's cheeks flushed…she found the gesture to be very intimate, and felt a bit strange performing it in front of their guests. Erik's eyes, however, never left hers as he gently ate the honey from her finger, and as she gazed shyly at him, she saw that his expression did not mirror her own. His eyes were no longer their usual blue-green in the glow of the candlelight…now they were a fiery, deep green that radiated the passion he was feeling at that moment. Father Michel spoke once again, "May your life together be sweet, and may Your union be fruitful." Christine blushed again, and Erik took both of her hands in his own.

The old priest cleared his throat and continued a bit more loudly. "By the authority given to me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God has joined together, let no man separate. Erik, you may now kiss your bride."

Gingerly, Erik touched the bottom hem of her white veil and lifted it up slowly from her face. At last, he could see her clearly, and she was more beautiful than she had ever been. At last, she was _his_. He set the veil atop the crown on her head, and cupped her face in his strong hands. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers gently at first. Christine closed her eyes and leaned toward him. The kiss increased in pressure and Erik opened his mouth slightly to taste her lips. After a few short seconds, their contact was broken. Christine eyes fluttered open to see his burning gaze upon her, and it made her stomach quiver.

"Honored guests, I now present to you Monsieur and Madame Durand," Father Michel joyously announced. Everyone stood and applauded the bride and groom, and Christine turned to Meg to receive her bouquet once again. They looked at each other and Meg wiped a tear from her own cheek. "Congratulations, Christine…you're really married now."

Christine gently encircled Meg's shoulders with her delicate arms. "Thank you, Meg," she whispered, as she began to cry again.

Erik turned to the Persian and shook his hand. "Thank you, Daroga, for everything. You have made this night most memorable." The Persian nodded and patted Erik on the arm. "May God bless you both, my friend," he said softly.

Everyone milled about for a few moments before Father Michel raised his voice above the greetings of "best wishes" and "congratulations" that surrounded the couple. "Friends, Monsieur Gregoire and Madame Suzette Laurent have graciously provided a wedding meal at their home for us all this evening. Please follow in your carriages after the bride and groom, and we will continue the festivities."

Erik and Christine both nearly gasped in unison. "Madame?" Erik turned to Suzette with a puzzled expression.

Madame Suzette patted him on the shoulder. "Well, we certainly can't have a wedding and no wedding feast, now _can_ we? You are our friends, and we are more than pleased to have this privilege." She reached up to hug him around the neck. "Congratulations, Monsieur Erik. If there is anything that Gregoire and I can ever do for you both, please let us know," she whispered.

"Thank you, Madame," Erik replied, "but I believe that you've both done more than enough already." He turned and saw Amêlie seated on her stool watching him closely. He whispered to Christine and she turned to smile at the young girl. "Excuse us for just a moment, please," she said to Meg and Madame Giry.

"Young songbird, you were lovely," Erik beamed at Amêlie as they approached her, reaching out to kiss her hand. She blushed and smiled up at him. "I can tell that you have been practicing, Mademoiselle Amêlie."

"Thank you, Monsieur Erik. I…I was honored to be able to sing for you both on your special night," she said shyly, turning her attention to Christine. "You look wonderful, Madame Christine," she gushed, "and you both sang beautifully, as well."

Christine was mildly surprised to be addressed by her married title so soon. "Well…thank you, Mademoiselle Amêlie. You look lovely, as well. It meant a lot for you to sing that particular song at our wedding…I have always loved it." She smiled at her sincerely, and reached out to gently embrace the younger girl.

Before they knew it, the bride and groom were being ushered to Father Michel's study to sign the marriage certificate along with Meg and the Persian. Then they were hurried out the front doors of the church to their waiting carriage.

Erik and Christine climbed inside and waved to their guests happily as theyrode off. The driver had been instructed to take them around the city at least once before driving out to the Laurent house, so that everything could be made ready for their arrival. Erik reached for his bride immediately after he had closed the carriage door and pulled her tightly to him. He kissed her hungrily and wrapped his arms about her waist. They were like this for several minutes before Christine was forced to pull away and catch her breath. "My goodness!" she exclaimed, laughing. "What has gotten into you, my husband?" She grinned mischievously at him, leaning in to peck him quickly again on the lips.

Erik caressed her bare shoulders. "You're _mine_," he whispered, with a hint of awe in his melodic voice. "You belong to me now." He studied her face with wide-eyed wonder.

"Yes, my darling, and you belong to me," she smiled, bringing her arms up and clasping her hands behind his neck. She shook her head in disbelief. "Is this _real_, Erik?"

"Yes," he murmured into her mouth before claiming it passionately once more. This time, they remained in each other's embrace until they arrived at the Laurent estate. Erik found that he could not keep his hands to himself, no matter how hard he tried. He felt that he had to be touching Christine in some way the entire evening. Even during the meal, he was holding her hand under the table. She chuckled and teased him quietly about it, but inside, she was truly relishing every touch and every shiver that coursed through her body.

After dining on roast lamb and potatoes along with an array of desserts, including a small but elaborately decorated wedding cake, the newlyweds said goodnight to their guests and took the carriage for a short ride to the guest house. The driver returned to the main house to take several of the guests home, as the hour was growing late. Christine's belongings had arrived earlier with Madame Giry and sat waiting on the doorstep. When Erik saw them, he laughed aloud at the sheer number of bags. "You are but one woman, mon ange, and yet you possess enough for three!"

"Erik, don't tease me! Carry me over the threshold, would you?" she grinned at him.

He swept her effortlessly into his arms and pushed the door open, carrying her carefully through. He kicked the door closed behind him, startling Christine. "Erik, all of my things are still outside," she said, puzzled.

He met her gaze with a wry smile. "Your things, mon amour, can _wait_," he replied seductively, turning toward the hallway. Approaching the bedroom door, Christine stopped him.

"Erik, wait," she breathed, between kisses. "I…I have to freshen up a bit. Please? I need my bags." She raised her eyebrows at him pleadingly, and he couldn't resist her. Sighing deeply, he entered their bedroom and set her down gently on the large four-poster bed. "Yes, _Madame_," he said drearily, with a hint of resentment, as he turned to leave the room.

"Now, Erik," she called after him, "don't be so glum. It will only take me a few moments. Besides, I'll need your help getting out of this dreadful contraption," she laughed, motioning to her dress.

He raised his eyebrow and shot her a look of feigned disinterest. "And what makes you think that I would be willing to _aid_ in such a task, _Madame_?"

She chuckled heartily. "Hurry back," she replied in a sing-song voice.

When Erik returned with the last of the bags, Christine was not in their bedroom. "Christine?" he called out to her. "Where are you, mon ange?"

"In the lavatory," she called back to him. "May I please have the small bag…the one with the red trim?"

"Of course." He located the bag and carried it to the lavatory door, knocking lightly. "It's here," he said.

"Thank you," she called cheerily from within.

Trudging back to their bedroom, he sat down somewhat sullenly on the bed, and decided to remove his shoes. _While I'm at it_, he thought, _I might as well get comfortable._ He removed his socks, cravat, and jacket, putting them away. He paced the room for a few moments before he decided to relax on the bed and wait for his bride. After a few moments of remaining motionless, he had fallen asleep.

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In the lavatory, Christine removed her wedding gown, veil, and all jewelry. She had hung them as best as she could, and had made certain to wash all of the cosmetics from her face. She was left in her corset and shift, and she suddenly realized that she was terrified. _But I **love** him_, she reminded herself. _He is my husband now…and we should be together._ Still, her modesty seemed to take over, and she felt her face growing hot. Thousands of "what ifs" flooded her mind, and she was very unsure of herself. Erik brought out more passion in her than she had dreamed possible, and yet now that their union was fully blessed by God, she had no idea what to do with those feelings. She inwardly berated herself for being so childish, until she realized that her new husband had been waiting for her for quite some time. She stepped out into the hallway and walked softly to the bedroom door.

Erik was sprawled out on their large bed, still dressed in his trousers and shirtsleeves. Suddenly, her fear began to dissipate and it was replaced by a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew this feeling…he evoked it in her every time he came near. She tiptoed to the bed and picked up one of the roses from her bouquet that she had kept. Leaning over him, she stroked the petals along his exposed cheek and down his neck. His cheek twitched involuntarily and she nearly giggled. Emboldened, she climbed on to the bed next to him and bent down to kiss his lips. Suddenly, he reached up and pulled her down on top of him.

"Erik! You _tricked_ me! You are absolutely horrible!" she cried, struggling to free herself from his grip.

"I **was** sleeping, mon ange," he laughed, "but I woke up as soon as you exited the lavatory. You forget that my hearing is _excellent_," he smiled roguishly at her.

"You are an **infuriating** man, Erik Durand," she teased him. "What am I ever going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few things," he said, cocking one eyebrow and pulling her close again.

Christine blushed and pulled away. "Erik…I…I don't know what I'm…supposed to _do_."

"Well," he whispered, "it's not as if I have any knowledge of these matters, either, my darling. I'm sure we can manage to figure it out together," he teased.

"I'm _serious_!" she nearly shouted, startling him.

"Christine!" he said, shushing her. "Darling, you have to calm down…and…" He stopped short, noticing at last that her wedding gown was no longer on her body, and she was wearing a rather intimidating corset, as well as a light gown beneath it. His eyes went wide and his mouth went dry almost simultaneously.

"Erik? What is it?" she spoke, alarmed at his change in demeanor.

"Nothing…it-it's nothing, mon ange. Uh…perhaps we should…change?"

"Alright," she responded, watching him curiously. She was becoming a bit worried. _Have I done something wrong?_ she wondered.

"Let me…light some candles first, perhaps?" he asked nervously. He struck a match and went around the room, lighting four or five that he had put there in anticipation of their first night together as husband and wife. His hands were shaking so badly that he could barely hold the match. Christine noticed, and finally realized that she wasn't the only one who was frightened and unsure. The thought made her feel a bit more confident, and it surprised her.

She stood up slowly from the bed and slid over to him as quietly as she could. His back was turned and he did not see her approaching. He blew out the match and spun around swiftly, nearly knocking her over. He gasped at her closeness. Christine read the fear and uncertainty in his eyes as he set the match down and tangled one hand in her hair. "Mon amour," he breathed, gazing deeply into her eyes. "Erik," she whispered, "I need you to help me change out of these clothes, please." She turned her back to him, and he shakily began to unlace her corset, his breath warm and close to her exposed shoulders. At last, it was completely loose and he let go. She stepped forward, and it slid to the floor, landing with a soft thud.

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**A/N:** I would like to point out the fact that I'm noticing a lot of words that ran together in the last chapter, especially, but in others as well. This is through no fault of my own…I editin my program, I re-edit when I upload, and it looks fine. It must be a bug in the system or something. So, I apologize for the "squished" words, although I can't help it! Very frustrating!

Also, I'm checking my stats and it appears that I'm getting a LOT of lurkers. I appreciate all of you, and I'm glad you're reading…but getting one or two reviews per chapter when I knowthat there are at least 80 of you reading is a bit disheartening at times. I hope that you're still enjoying the story, and that it is meeting (or exceeding) your expectations.


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N: Okay, here it is, finally! I apologize for not posting it this weekend, as I had planned to do. I edited, and edited again, and yet again. I really, really agonized over this, so be kind, everyone. And the prose contained herein is from none other than...well, I'll tell you at the end. LOL!**

_Disclaimer: I love Leroux! I love Erik! And the characters here aren't my own, but you know all this. Read!_

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

Time seemed to stand still as Christine stood there, in only her light shift, her back to her husband. She closed her eyes and realized that her entire body was trembling…she was not certain what was causing the reaction…fear and desire seemed almost to be synonymous sensations when it came to Erik, she realized.

After a moment, she heard a faint rustling behind her, and realized that Erik was changing out of his dress clothes. She chose not to turn around, and simply stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed with unidentifiable emotions. At last, she felt a warm hand resting on her shoulder before it glided slowly down her arm. Suddenly, she was spun around to face him. She met his eyes, and the unbridled ardor of his fiery green gaze nearly undid her. He kissed her then, and she felt terrified and wonderful at the same time. She could feel him trembling as well, and after several blissful seconds, Erik pulled away. "_I love you_, Christine," he whispered reverently. "Do you trust me?" She nodded reassuringly, and at once everything became a haze to her as he began to speak in his melodious, poetic voice, easing her into the natural passion of a husband and wife.

"Like a lily among thorns is my darling among the maidens," he breathed, touching her tenderly, gently, hesitantly at first, as if she were a fragile object. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to simply listen and feel. He lifted his hand to her mouth and slid his thumb across it. "Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon; your mouth is lovely. All beautiful you are, my darling; there is no flaw in you." He removed his thumb and leaned into her, kissing her again, more deeply. She shivered with anticipation. _How can he see me this way?_ she wondered in amazement.

He pulled away and began to circle her slowly, as lithely as a great cat. The sensation of lightheadedness began to envelop her. "You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride; you have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes, with one jewel of your necklace," he continued, his voice suddenly becoming a whisper in her right ear. He drew his fingers worshipfully across her collarbone to emphasize his words. "How delightful is your love, my sister, my bride," he purred musically, causing the hairs to bristle on the back of her neck. "How much more pleasing is your love than wine, and the fragrance of your perfume than any spice." Erik was surprised at how the words he spoke were causing his anxiety to melt away. He moved steadily closer, becoming more bold with his hands and then with his lips.

Christine's insides felt like a raging inferno, and her knees began to buckle slightly. Erik sensed it and immediately pressed himself closely behind her, wrapping a strong arm about her waist to support her. _Mine…my Christine…my wife! How long I have waited for this moment, to be loved by her…desired by her. _Christine instinctively leaned back against him, her head on his shoulder. He brought his mouth to her left ear then, whispering words of love and devotion, gathering confidence and pleasure from her every reaction. His passionate assault on her senses overwhelmed her, and she felt the porcelain skin of her face reddening, even as she fought against it.

"How beautiful you are and how pleasing, O love, with your delights," he continued rapturously. "Your stature is like that of the palm, and your breasts like clusters of fruit. I said, 'I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit,'" he moved slowly and passionately, playing the prose upon the instrument of her body. At this, Christine's knees gave way, and Erik quickly caught her, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to the soft, down quilt on their bed. She was nearly breathless, knowing nothing but the rich warmth of his voice and the fire of his touch at that moment. "May your breasts be like the clusters of the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples," he murmured, pausing to remove his mask carefully, "and your _mouth_…" he said, leaning over her until she could feel his lips against hers, "…like the best wine."

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Christine blinked as the sunlight gradually found its way through her eyelids. Stretching languidly, she realized where she was…and whose warm body lay close beside her. As carefully as she could, she rolled over. Erik lay peacefully on his back, sleeping soundly, one arm bent under his pillow. Christine smiled to herself, reveling in her new status as his wife, and she studied his uncovered face for the first time in the light of day. It still held the same ravaged features, but something was different. What she had once seen in him--rage, hatred, malice toward mankind--was no longer there, and she was grateful. However, something gnawed at her…she saw _herself_ in his scars. It still hurt her to think of what she had done, just weeks prior, to cause him such extreme pain.

Carefully, she brought her hand to the right side of his face and felt his marred flesh beneath the pads of her fingers. She began to trace every ridge, bump, and indentation, as if memorizing each one. As she did so, she began to cry in both sorrow and amazement. _I used to fear this haunted face_, she thought, astonished. _And now, here I am, and I cannot stop looking at him. He is true beauty, and to think that I almost lost him forever…. _She wept bitterly, trying unsuccessfully to remain noiseless so as not to wake her husband. She closed her eyes and a stray tear escaped her, landing with a small splatter on his chest. When she opened them again, Erik was stirring. She attempted to wipe the tears away with her free hand, but his eyes fluttered open before she could do so.

For a moment, he stared at her in disbelief, certain that he must be dreaming. Christine's hair was in complete disarray, her creamy shoulders exposed above the silken bed sheets. He lifted his right hand to caress one of them, and found to his delight that she was indeed real. Suddenly, memories of the night before came flooding back to him. He smiled and closed his eyes, offering a silent prayer of thanks to the Lord. _She is truly mine completely_, he thought. _We are one at last._ He felt positively invigorated. Opening his eyes to look down at her, he noticed immediately that she had been crying. His elation quickly turned to alarm, and he cupped her chin in his strong hand, lifting her face to meet his piercing gaze.

"_Mon amour_, what is wrong?" he whispered urgently. Her hand still lay lightly on his right cheek, though she was not certain that he was aware of it at that moment. His features were so rough that she wondered how much sensation he even possessed on that side of his face. She slid her hand softly across his stretched and malformed skin, noticing that he did not shrink back from her touch. "Erik," she spoke hoarsely, "I…I was just thinking…about us."

As Christine moved her hand across the bare skin of his right cheek, he nearly recoiled in shock. His first thought was to immediately replace the mask. _But she is my wife now, _he reminded himself._ She chose me as her husband and accepts me as I am._ He steadied himself and remained exposed before her, all the while feeling the unsettling sensation of vulnerability. _I'm going to have to overcome this feeling_, he realized. _I cannot afford to keep barriers between us, as husband and wife._ He furrowed his brows, one of them scant and the other, full and commanding. "But, Christine, you've been crying. Does that mean that you're…having _regrets_?" he frowned worriedly.

"No! No, my beautiful Angel, _never,_" she responded quickly, sliding herself upward to bring her face to his. "Except that…I was thinking about the time I wasted, and how I hurt you, and…_no_, Erik, please just listen, don't say anything…I was recalling that once I was frightened of your appearance and of _you_. But now, your scars are _my_ scars, mon amour, and my scars are _yours_. I am just amazed at how things have changed for us these past several weeks. Dear God, I don't even know where I'd be right now if not for you…I don't even want to _think_ about it! You are my **beloved**, Erik, and I'm just so incredibly ashamed that I didn't see it sooner." She lowered her gaze and began to weep softly again.

_What have I ever done to deserve this woman before me?_ he marveled. Erik stroked the radiant skin of her cheek with his fingertips and brought his forehead down to rest upon hers. "Mon ange, I was not the same man then. There _was_ no beauty in me…there was only pain, hatred and selfishness." He placed a light kiss to her nose. "There is no reason for you to feel ashamed. If anyone is to feel shame, it should be me…but I _refuse_ to wallow in it. The Lord Himself has redeemed me, and if anything, my past serves as a reminder of how much He has done for me…and for _us_."

She lay her head down upon his chest, skirting her fingers over the patch of hair in the center. "But, Erik…there was also a great capacity for _love_ in you then. And yet, I thought you to be a monster…until you let me go, of your own volition. It was at that moment that I _knew_. I knew that I loved you, when I kissed your lips…_these_ lips." She rose slightly from his chest and brought her hand up to trace the smooth curves of his mouth. He responded to her touch, pressing a small kiss to the pads of her fingers. "When you decided to let me go, I knew _even then_ that I couldn't live without you….but I simply tried to blind myself to it, thinking that what I truly wanted was the life of a future Viscomtess." She shook her head, her eyes cast downward. "But Erik, your scars had already become mine. I have grown to embrace them…and I _love_ them, because they are a part of who you are. I wouldn't change _one_ of your scars…not for anything in the world. Scars are evidence of wounds, yes, but they are also evidence of healing…and I believe that in many ways, we have helped to heal _each other's_ wounds." She paused momentarily, as if in awe of the thought, and raised her head to meet his eyes. "We are one in the eyes of _everyone_ now, but I have felt as if we were already joined for years. I am a very, very blessed woman indeed, my husband." She smiled through her tears and Erik was overcome with raw emotion. Propping himself up on his elbows, he cupped the back of her head in one hand, bringing her to lay fully across his chest. He kissed her feverishly, and they succumbed once again to the love and passion that was in their hearts.

After a time, they lay there together, completely at peace. At last, Erik broke the silence with a whisper. "_I love you_, Christine. And because you love me…surely, I must be the most blessed man on earth." He smiled at her with satisfaction upon his countenance. She laughed lightly. "I am glad that I please you, my husband," she said, her cheeks reddening.

"Christine, you have _always_ pleased me. But I want to please you, as well," he smiled.

She studied him strangely. "Erik…I-I do believe that you already _have_," she shyly responded, dropping her gaze, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes.

He laughed merrily and hugged her tightly to his chest. "No, mon amour, that isn't what I meant…I have a surprise for you."

"A **surprise**?" Her eyes lit up with wonder like a child's on Christmas Day. "What is it?"

"We will be leaving to go on our honeymoon this afternoon, and we will be gone for one week," he spoke proudly, "and I believe that you should get dressed now…after you've had your bath, of course." He winked at her secretively.

"Erik! Don't do this to me! You must tell me where we're going so that I know what to pack! Please!" She pleaded until he finally gave in with an exasperated sigh.

"Alright, alright. If you _must_ know, I have purchased train tickets. We leave for Perros-Guirec this afternoon at three o'clock."

Christine gasped in shock. "_Perros-Guirec!_ Oh, Erik! Is it really _true_? Are we really going back to my old summer retreat?" she cried hopefully.

Erik sat up from the bed, bringing her with him. "Yes, mon ange, it's true. Would _I_ lie to _you_?" he winked teasingly.

"That's **not** funny," she frowned at him, wrapping her arms about his bare waist and pulling herself up from the bed with him as he stood. "I have so much packing to do! At times like this, I wish I had a maid again!" she laughed.

Erik rolled his eyes. "Christine, darling, you already **have** bags packed! I brought them inside last night, remember? And maids are for slothful people…or for women who don't have husbands to help them lace up their ridiculous corsets!" he grumbled.

She laughed exuberantly at his comments. "My darling," she said dramatically, "those bags must be gone through and sorted before I can choose the frocks that I wish to bring, naturally." She raised her eyebrows in jest. "And I shall make sure to bring extra corsets, just for you."

He pulled on his underclothes and she watched him intently while he spoke. "Wonderful…on our _honeymoon_, no less. I understand that you wish to look 'presentable,' but to me they just seem like a waste of time." He felt her eyes upon him as he pulled a shirt from the wardrobe. "Enjoying the view, ma cherie?" he laughed.

"Quite," she said emphatically, shooting him a broad smile as she turned away to hunt for her own clothing. She pulled three different dresses from her luggage and grimaced. "These are so horribly wrinkled that I may have nothing at all to wear today," she said disgustedly. "Perhaps if I hang one in the bath with me, the steam from the hot water will help?"

"Perhaps," he replied nonchalantly. "And though _I _wouldn't mind if you wore nothing at all today," he teased her, grinning, "I don't think that they will allow you on the train in your bathrobe."

"No, likely not," she remarked, her face furrowed into an expression of feigned seriousness. She excused herself and headed to the lavatory to bathe. Erik decided that he would have his bath after he was finished packing, so he set to work and was ready before Christine even stepped out of the bathtub. When she returned to the bedroom, she saw that Erik was growing impatient. He appeared to have everything in order for their trip, and he was dressed as if he were going to a formal affair.

"I'd like to get lunch before we leave today, mon ange. It's noon already…we've wasted half the day," he said, glancing at an old watch, which he pulled from his trouser pocket.

"_Wasted?_ I'd hardly call time spent with my new husband _wasted_," she scowled at him disapprovingly. She glanced at the gold pocket watch. "Where did you get that, Erik? I don't believe I've ever seen it before."

"Oh…Monique gave it to me at dinner last night as a wedding gift. She told me that it had belonged to her husband, Jules. She said that I had been like a son to her and that it was her wish for me to have it," he said softly, recalling the conversation with fondness.

"She has been a good friend to you, _hasn't_ she, darling? What a meaningful gift," Christine replied thoughtfully. "Oh! I completely forgot!" she suddenly exclaimed. "I have something for you as well." Practically beaming, she rushed over to one of her bags and opened it. She pulled out a book that had been tied round with a thick black ribbon and crossed the room to present it to him. "A wedding gift for you, Erik. I hope that you will like it."

Erik was completely surprised. "But…Christine, I-I didn't get you anything!"

"Erik! How can you _say_ that? You've planned our honeymoon, and I believe that you **did** purchase the rings…and my dress, and my shoes, and the flowers…well, except for your boutonniére. I paid for that _myself_," she smiled.

"How? Did you get your first paycheck at last, ma cherie?" he asked curiously. Christine nodded. Erik smiled at her approvingly. "You should be very proud of yourself, my darling…I know _I _am. After all, honest work is something that eluded me for most of my life," he chuckled lightly. He shook his head and looked down at the book in his hands. Releasing the black ribbon, he opened it to the title page. "_A Christmas Carol_? This is one that I haven't read…thank you very much, mon ange. Perhaps I can read it on the train," he smiled sincerely.

She was pleased with his reaction. "You're welcome. It's a wonderful story."

"Ah, you've read it?"

"Yes. Monsieur Reyer had a copy that he was kind enough to let me borrow at the Opera." She sighed. "Well, I suppose I had better sort through these bags so that we can get to our train on time."

Erik stepped behind her and kissed her curls. "I'm going to head to the Laurent house and give them the information for where we will be staying so that they can reach us if need be."

Christine turned to face him. "That sounds like a good idea. I'll do my best to hurry, Erik." She stood on tiptoe and pecked him on the lips softly. "I can't wait to get there! Where will we be staying?"

"I was able to rent a vacant villa on short notice, near one of the beaches. I hear that there are many shops and castles to see, as well," he smiled at her.

Christine stammered, a bit surprised by the memories that rushed back to her at that moment. "The-the beach? Oh…that should be lovely." She quickly recovered before he noticed her mixed emotions. "I hope it won't be too chilly there, near the water. I'll have to pack accordingly," she stated, trying to sound cheerful.

He grinned at her as he left the room, putting on his outdoor clothing. "I'll be back shortly. I'll need to bathe before we leave, as well," he called to her as he closed the door.

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**A/N:** Okay, I'll tell you now: the prose that Erik used for their first night together is from the Bible, in the book called "Song of Songs" or sometimes "Song of Solomon." Pretty intereresting stuff, huh? _Review_, PLEASE!


	49. Chapter 49

_Disclaimer: More of the same!_

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

Erik arrived at the Laurent house and Guillaume announced his presence. Monsieur and Madame Laurent were just sitting down to a late lunch. "Erik!" Monsieur Gregoire exclaimed, rising from his dining chair. "We didn't expect to see you today…well, at least not until supper time! How are you and your lovely new wife this fine day?"

Erik smiled proudly. "We are both quite well, thank you. I just stopped by to let you know that we will be traveling to Perros-Guirec by train today, and expect to be there for a week. Here is the information for where we will be staying." He handed Monsieur Laurent the address for their lodging. "If there is any sort of emergency, I hope that you will not hesitate to contact us."

"Of course," Monsieur Gregoire responded, taking the handwritten note from Erik. "Perros, hmmm? The sea is quite lovely there. I hope that you both enjoy your honeymoon."

Madame Suzette chimed in. "Have either of you been to Bretagne before?"

"Christine has, actually," Erik replied. "She and her father used to spend summers there. She's very excited to see it again after so many years."

"I see," she responded, smiling, as Amêlie entered the room in her wheelchair, looking vibrant in a saffron-colored dress, her chestnut hair braided neatly.

"Monsieur Erik!" she grinned broadly when she saw him. "What on earth are you doing here? And where is Madame Christine?"

Erik bowed to her and smiled. "I have come to let you know that we will be traveling for a week. I hope that you will be ready to begin piano lessons again when we return," he winked. "And perhaps, Christine would be willing to give you some vocal lessons, as well, if you wish...only to enhance your natural ability, of course."

Amêlie clapped her slender hands in excitement. "Oh, yes! That would be wonderful! I will look forward to your return. God be with you both and keep you safe!"

"Thank you," Erik smiled as he walked over and knelt beside her, looking directly into her laughing blue eyes. "I will look forward to it as well, young songbird." He stood then and spoke his goodbyes, returning to the house to bathe. Upon entering, Christine was dressed in a comfortable russet-colored frock that accented her eyes and had fixed her hair into a neat chignon.

"Hello there," she said happily as he entered the bedroom. "I think that I am almost packed. By the time you finish with your bath, I should be ready to go," she said with confidence.

"Really? Well, that would truly _amaze_ me, mon amour," he said, his eyes sparkling with merriment. Christine was certain that she had never seen him so cheery and upbeat before. _He's happy now_, she thought with amazement. _I make him happy._ The fact that she could make such a difference in this man's life was astonishing to her. She treasured this knowledge in her heart, and prayed that she would never cease to bring him joy.

Erik bathed quickly, and Christine thought that perhaps he was hastening just to compete with her…he had to know that she could not finish packing in just five minutes! She hurriedly threw her remaining items into the last bag and closed it, fumbling with the clasps. She was primping her hair when he came out of the lavatory, and whirled around to see him come out wrapped below his waist with a large and fluffy white towel, still slightly damp from the waist up. He wore no wig, and his hair was wet and hanging in his eyes. At first, she wanted to laugh at his slightly disheveled appearance, but then…she felt a blush creep upward to her cheeks, turning her back to him again when he met her gaze.

Erik noticed her reaction and he slicked his hair back, striding in with a slight swagger. "So," he said abruptly, "were you able to finish packing, ma cherie?" He grinned mischievously, and she knew that she had been correct in her prior assumptions.

"You were purposely _rushing_, weren't you?" she scolded him, glancing over her shoulder. "You are just _horrible_, Erik! I really **am **doing the best I can, you know!"

He laughed heartily. "Now, Christine, you know I'm only teasing you. Don't be upset."

"I'm _not _upset," she remarked, glaring at him dramatically. "Now _you're_ the one who will be making us late. You'd best get dressed now." _Married less than a day, and here I am, sounding every bit the nagging wife!_

Erik smirked as he turned from her and opened the mahogany wardrobe. Finding all of his clothing, he promptly dropped his towel to the floor. Christine heard its soft landing on the rug and fought to keep her eyes on her luggage…unsuccessfully. She felt almost ashamed of herself, until she remembered that he was hers now, as she was his. _Surely, over time, we will grow accustomed to seeing each other, and I won't blush every time I look at him!_

Within moments, he was completely dressed, with everything in place except for his mask. Christine raised her eyebrows in question, just as he reached into a drawer and retrieved a skin-colored mask much like his usual white one. He put it on his face, and Christine was amazed at the change. _He looks almost…**normal**_, she thought. She eyed him critically, not quite certain of how his new appearance made her feel. Erik felt her gaze boring into him and sighed. "It's less conspicuous, mon ange…and I will also be under the cowl of my cloak. Unfortunately, you must conceal yourself as well. If anyone were to see you with me and recognize you, they could grow suspicious…and we could _both_ be in danger." He attempted a smile to lighten the ominous tone of his words. "Let me fetch the carriage. I'll come back for the bags." After another quarter of an hour, everything was loaded into the Laurent carriage, and they set out for the train station.

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The train rumbled over the tracks with the steady rhythm of a metronome. Lost in thought, Christine stared out at the rapidly passing landscape from beneath her hooded cloak. _Perros-Guirec_, she thought with trepidation. _I don't want to ruin this trip for Erik, but surely I must tell him…._

Erik cleared his throat, startling Christine, who jumped slightly in her seat. He studied her curiously. "Mon ange, are you alright?" he whispered from beneath his cloak, his face visible only to her.

She hesitated for a moment before answering. "Yes," she said, forcing a smile.

Erik frowned. "No, you _aren't_. Tell me what's troubling you, my darling," he said softly, laying his new book down across from him and scooting closer to take her in his arms.

"I suppose I'm a bit nervous. Perros holds many memories for me, Erik. Some of them are painful to remember, and others are happy. I _am_ excited to see it again…but I am also a little afraid." Her forehead was creased with lines of worry, and her lower lip trembled as she spoke.

He traced her cheek lightly with his finger. "There is nothing to fear there, Christine. Memories cannot hurt you…not if you don't let them." He set his mouth in a firm line. "We will make new memories there, together," he stated, with a determined air.

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Through the dead of night, Erik kept watch while Christine slept on the train. He had attempted to read for a while, but he found that the steady clicking of the train across the tracks was lulling him into a slumber. He had abandoned the idea hours before, sitting erect, his arms supporting his wife as she dreamed fitfully. He watched her with concern, and prayed silently that their honeymoon would not be ruined with unwelcome recollections of past grief.

It was in the wee hours of the morning when they arrived at Lannion, and the train hissed to a stop. The night was clear and calm, and the stars seemed to shine more brightly there without the distractions afforded by Paris nightlife. "Darling, we need to get off now," Erik whispered to Christine, shaking her gently to wake her.

"Hmm? Oh…did I sleep all night, Erik?"

"No, it's only about two in the morning. We need to collect our things and get a cab. Come," he said, gently lifting her from her seat.

They felt very fortunate to find a cab at such an odd hour of the morning, and had to share it with an elderly couple who was also traveling to Perros. Christine smiled politely at them, trying not to appear conspicuous, while Erik pretended to sleep on her shoulder, keeping his face concealed for the entire ride. Christine watched the other couple with fascination as they held hands contentedly. _Will it be that way for us when we grow old?_ she wondered, inching a bit closer to her husband as she did so.

When they arrived at Perros, the older couple was let off first at an inn, and both Erik and Christine sighed with relief. The driver asked directions to their destination and Erik called out the address of the villa to him, hoping that the man would know where it was located. Apparently, he was familiar with the address, because he set out promptly. Erik paid the man generously when they arrived, glad that the darkness was still surrounding them and that the driver could not see his masked face. "Well, mon ange," Erik stated as the cab pulled away, "we are here at last. Our home away from home for the next several days." He smiled as he admired the quaint white villa, glowing in the moonlight. It was set atop a small hill overlooking the waters below. _This is actually a well-built house_, he thought, a bit surprised. He noticed that the beach was only a mile or so away, and looked forward to the chilly evenings when they could light the fireplace…_much like this evening_, he realized, suddenly feeling the cold seeping into his bones...an all too familiar sensation. "It's no castle, but surely it will do."

"It's really lovely," Christine replied, studying the villa. "Shall we go inside? I am feeling rather drowsy again, I'm afraid."

Erik located the key where the owner had said that it would be and unlocked the door, pleased to find that everything had been made ready for their stay. The kitchen was fully stocked, and even the bed had been turned down. They quickly settled in, undressing and settling into bed for what was left of the night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"_It's alright, I'll go and fetch your scarf out of the sea," he said, his eyes a sparkling blue that crinkled at the outer corners when he smiled. _

"_No! Don't!" she cried, the wind blowing her auburn hair into her face so that she suddenly couldn't see._

"_It's alright, I'll get it!" the young boy shouted, running into the sea, his voice sounding more and more distant._

_She pushed the hair out of her face. "Please, please, don't go out there! You'll…you'll drown! You won't ever come back! Don't go!" she cried hysterically._

_The boy refused to listen. Soon he was so far into the sea that she could no longer make out his shape in the reflecting light from the water. Suddenly, she heard a solo violin in the distance, its haunting sound traveling toward her, swirling around her like an array of leaves chased by the wind. She began to cry. "Papa! Papa! Where are you?"_

_There was no answer, but the violin played on and on until she was weeping with her face on the grass. "Papa! You've left me! I know that you're gone…and now the little boy is gone, too, and I am all alone!" she called out, pushing herself up at last and lifting her eyes to the surreal azure sky._

"_No, you're not alone," said a melodic voice from behind her. She was somehow unable to turn and see the owner of the voice, but she knew immediately that she was safe. Suddenly, the violin grew louder, nearer, and with it came the voice again, this time singing…but she couldn't make out the words, to her frustration. "Oh, to always hear that voice. It is the voice of an angel!" At last, the voice whispered her name. "Christine." She shivered, and was compelled once again to seek out the source of the voice. To her delight, she found that she was no longer immobile, turning slowly, deliberately. She expected to see the face of the one she loved…her Angel of Music, the one who had come to her in dreams and sang to her in sleep…but when she turned, she again saw familiar blue eyes on a man--no longer a boy, but fully grown-- smiling at her. _

"_You? But…but you're not…"_

"_No, Christine, but I'm the one that you should be with. I'm the one who shared this place with you…and you will regret one day what you've done." He said this, smiling absurdly the entire time he spoke, eerily unblinking. "One day, Christine."_

"_No. No!" she shouted at him, balling her hands into fists. "Never! I will never regret it!"_

"Christine? Christine, darling…mon ange, wake up!" Erik's voice called out to her, and she awoke with a feeling of dread. The heaviness was like a cloak around her heart, nearly convincing her that her soul had left her body to travel to another time and place.

"Erik!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him so close that she could feel his heartbeat. "I…I had a nightmare. It was horrible…" she closed her eyes tightly, gripping him as if she feared he would fade from existence at any moment.

"What was it, Christine?" he asked softly, rubbing her back. "I know that so often dreams can seem real…but they cannot hurt you."

_I shouldn't tell him…he might not understand, and he may be angered by it._ "It…it was only a dream, Erik. I'd rather not discuss it further right now…I just can't."

"Alright," he replied, much to her surprise. He knew by the expression on her face that she meant it…she wasn't ready to confide in him yet. He changed the subject quickly, marveling at his own control. _In the past, surely I would have commanded her to share her dream with me right here and now…and it likely would have been a mistake._ "It's nearly ten o'clock now…we should get dressed and go out for a while, mon ange. The fresh air might help to clear your head. Here in Perros, they won't likely recognize you or suspect you to be with a fleeing criminal, so you won't need to cover yourself so completely anymore." He smiled, and Christine noticed a tinge of wistfulness in his look. She immediately understood.

"But _you_ will," she said sadly. "Why must you be resigned to a life hidden among the shadows, my love? I wish that you were free to walk about in daylight as anyone else, without fear." She could feel the anger rising within her, and tears of frustration threatened to spill from her glistening eyes.

"No, Christine, don't…it isn't worth it. Save your tears for a proper time…we are on our honeymoon, _ma belle femme_, and I intend to enjoy myself with you, no matter what the world may think." He kissed her forehead. "Come, let's get ready."

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**A/N:** I completely forgot to thank all of you who reviewed at the end of Chapter 47, so I thank you now. I appreciate that you "come out of the woodwork" when I need a bit of encouragement. I also appreciate the few of you who have reviewed the "wedding night" chapter. And to those of you from whom I have not heard, I would value any comments you have. On average, I'd say that less than 5 of my readers are reviewing at all. I wonder, is this typical? I do allow for anonymous reviews, as you can see if you've been to my review page. You don't have to leave your email. Just don't flame me or spam me, please! –grins-

Well, a big thank you to those who are kind enough to drop me a quick line. It really, really means a lot to me, and it encourages me to see the little email that says "review." I love getting those…I don't know an author who doesn't. So please, review. I am trying to leave more myself when I read, because I know how much it means to an author. Perhaps some of you are waiting until the "end" to review, but I'll just let you know now that the end isn't coming anytime soon yet. So, I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the story…and it looks like there are over 100 of you, if the stats are correct. –waves to the largest audience that any of my fiction has ever had-- Thanks for reading!


	50. Chapter 50

_Disclaimer: I'm not Gaston Leroux, or ALW, or Susan Kay, or anyone else. I'm just me, and if I owned any rights, I'd be set for life. –grins-_

**Chapter Fifty**

Erik and Christine left the villa and strolled, their fingers entwined, to some of the nearby shops. Erik took care to cover his head and face with his heavy cloak. The weather was a bit chilly that day, and the majority of people on the streets paid him no mind. Suddenly, something in a window across the street caught his eye and he drew in a rapid breath.

"Christine—let's go there," he pointed, and she turned to look.

"_There_?" she squinted, curious as to why he would wish to patronize a dreary little pawn shop. "Alright, if you wish."

As soon as they stepped inside, the pungent smell of wood and brass wafted to Erik's nostrils. He glanced around to see if anyone was running the shop, and within seconds a squat woman, looking to be about Madame Giry's age, came out from behind a curtain in the back. "May I help you?" she asked sweetly, noticing Christine's graceful form standing in the doorway.

Brusquely, Erik stepped in front of his wife and the woman gasped in shock. Anger was the first emotion to awaken in him, but he fought a fierce internal battle to remain calm and friendly. _Why must people react that way?_ He clenched his teeth for a moment while he gathered his wits. "Madame, I should very much like to see the instrument in your window," he said at last, in a rich and almost hypnotic timbre.

The woman relaxed a bit, and a look of wonder crossed her face when he spoke. "Of…of course, Monsieur. I'll get it down for you."

Erik stepped aside, allowing her to climb into the window as he slid closer to Christine, taking her hand gently in his own. She looked up at him peculiarly until she saw the violin in the older woman's hands as she stepped from the display window.

"Here you are, Monsieur. Take your time," the woman said, eyeing him curiously and attempting to get a better look at his features. He gingerly and lovingly took it from her hands and turned quickly before she had a chance to study his face. Erik's focus shifted entirely to the beautifully crafted piece of maple and spruce in his eager hands and he nearly cried at the feel of the instrument beneath his fingers. _It has been far too long._ He checked the bow and tuned the violin for a brief moment. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he set it beneath his chin and put bow to strings, gliding smoothly across them. The beauty of the sound enveloped him like a warm blanket, reverberating against the walls of the small shop. He paused for a moment, and at last began to play a tune…one that Christine knew very well.

The notes seemed to transport her to another dimension, bringing back memories of loneliness and wanting. _The Resurrection of Lazarus…from my dream…oh, Papa!_ Tears began to stream down Christine's cheeks and as she listened, she could not suppress a sob.

At once, Erik heard her and jolted from his trance-like state, whirling around in alarm. "Mon ange? Are you alright?" He stepped toward her, gathering the bow and instrument in one arm, his wife in the other.

"Yes," she sniffled, trying to compose herself. "It's just…oh, _Erik_."

"I'm sorry, ma cherie…I didn't mean to upset you with that song…I know what significance it holds for you." His eyes were sorrowful and apologetic, and Christine could see that his regret was genuine.

"Thank you." She wiped the tears from her face. "Are…are you going to _buy_ it?"

Erik started to speak, but he saw the older woman staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head to meet her gaze. "Madame?"

"Y-yes, Monsieur?" she stammered, quickly lowering her eyes from his.

"Is this the price that you are asking for this instrument?" he asked flatly, noting the tag strung to the neck of the violin.

"That depends…what are _you_ willing to pay for such an instrument, Monsieur?" she cocked her head and dared to directly meet his gaze for a moment, awaiting his response. She was used to bartering…most people expected her to come down in price.

"Does it have a case?"

"Yes."

"Give me a moment, please." He quickly pulled Christine aside, situating her by the window so that the shopkeeper could not hear him. "This is a Vuillaume, mon ange. Not a very old violin, but very high quality. I should say it's worth twice as much as the price that's requested here. Perhaps I should put a smile on this old woman's face today, hmmm?" He chortled amusedly and Christine had to laugh at the gleam in his eye.

The shopkeeper swooned when she saw the money that Erik set out before her. "Keep it. You didn't know what you had here, Madame. Good day."

"Good…good day to _you_, Monsieur. And thank you very much!" The old woman smiled, almost gleefully, calling after him as they exited the shop.

Christine held her husband's hand with even more pride as they strode down the street, pleased with the sunshine and clear sky, despite the chill in the atmosphere. She gleefully pointed out different buildings and sights that she recalled from her summers spent there. "Look!" she gripped Erik's arm excitedly. "There's the little church that Papa and I attended when we used to come here! Oh, can we please go in and just have a look around, Erik? Please?"

Erik smiled affectionately at her childlike enthusiasm "Of course. Perhaps you'd wish to light a candle in memory of your father?" He gazed at her, his eyes tender, and she was overcome with emotion.

"Oh, Erik. How I love you, my Angel," she whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek. "How is it that you always know what to say to me?" She pulled his neck down, pressing her lips to his in a soft kiss.

He was surprised by her public display of affection. _Never in my life did I believe that a woman would kiss me…especially not on a street like this!_ He smiled at her once the shock had worn off. "Perhaps I know what to say because I know _you_, Christine. Have you forgotten that I've watched you from the shadows for years now?"

"Of course not," she said distractedly. "Come on, let's go," she said, tugging him across the street by the crook of his arm.

The church door opened with a creak, and Christine was met with a familiar smell…old wood…candle wax…dust. She remembered this place with such fondness. Her father had brought her here regularly during the summer. "Hello. May I help you?" an unfamiliar male voice startled Christine and she spun to her left.

"Oh! I…we were just coming in to look around and light a candle for…for someone who has passed on. Is that alright?"

"Of course," the priest said, stepping forward from the shadows. He was young…younger than Erik, with dark hair and eyes…eyes that appeared almost black in the dim sanctuary. "Are you visiting from out of town?"

"Uh…yes," Christine replied, glancing at Erik, who was standing nearly motionless, refusing to face the man. "We are here for a short while. It is truly a lovely place."

"That it is," nodded the solemn priest. He studied Christine for a moment, glancing down at her hands. "Madame, is it?"

Erik tensed noticeably, whirling to face the priest at last. He reached for Christine's hand possessively, his violin case in the other hand. "Yes," he said flatly. "And who might you be?" he asked, meeting the man's piercing gaze with one to mirror it, just barely visible beneath the cloak.

"Oh, forgive me for my rudeness. I am Father Ribisi. I am the new priest here."

"Ribisi? Isn't that an Italian name, Father? Forgive my forwardness in asking," Christine said with some interest.

"It is," the young priest nodded. "But I have lived here for most of my life. I took over when Father Richard retired. I attended this church in my younger years, as well, before I went to study for the priesthood."

"Ah," Christine responded, simply wishing that he would go away, but trying to act the part of a well-mannered young woman. "Well, if you'll excuse us, please…"

"Oh, certainly," Father Ribisi said, motioning with his rather large and lean hand. "But before I leave you," he began cautiously, "I wonder if I might ask you one last question, Madame."

Erik felt anger bubbling in him as he gripped Christine's hand tightly, and she winced.

"Of course, Father," Christine replied, forcing a smile.

"You seem quite familiar to me. You remind me of a young girl who used to vacation here with her father…Monsieur Daae, I believe. You wouldn't happen to be of any relation, would you?"

Christine froze for a few seconds, not knowing how to answer. _I am in God's house_, she thought to herself, _and here I am preparing to tell a lie!_ She swallowed and prayed silently for forgiveness even as she sinned. "Daae? No…no, I'm afraid not, Father. Good day to you. It was nice to meet you."

"You as well, Madame…_Monsieur_," the young priest stared oddly at Erik for a few seconds, as if he couldn't tear his eyes away, though Erik's face was still concealed beneath the cowl of his cloak. He turned slowly and left them alone at last.

Erik suddenly grasped Christine's elbow, startling her. "Erik! What is it?" she whispered frantically.

"As if you didn't know, mon ange. That man _recognized_ you. If he recognized you, surely others might as well. Perhaps you _should_ have concealed yourself today." His blue-green eyes had turned fiery again. "I shouldn't have brought you here. I just thought…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say. "Come, light a candle and let's be on our way…quickly, Christine."

After what seemed like an eternity to Erik, they slipped out the church doors, heading down the street hand in hand, trying to appear nonchalant and happy. However, they were both quite disturbed by the incident, and it left them with an unsettling feeling of paranoia. Anytime a passerby met Christine's eyes, she felt compelled to look away rather than to smile politely. She knew that it made them appear even more suspicious, but she couldn't help it.

Erik was relieved to be away from the scrutinizing eyes of the young priest. He leaned over and whispered to her as they neared the villa. "Let's go to the beach, and then we can go home, Christine."

She turned to glance up at him uneasily. "The…the _beach_, Erik? Are you certain that it's wise? What if I am recognized again?" She sputtered, hoping that he would change his mind. She did not want to go and relive old memories. She did not want her husband to know that every time she thought of this place, she thought not only of her father, but of Raoul. _Oh, Lord, I wish we hadn't come here._

"We'll be fine, mon ange. There should be few people at the beach on a brisk day like today. And, as I have never been there, I should very much like to see it." He studied her for a reaction, noticing the tension in her jaw. Her eyes were clouded over in thought, as well, and Erik knew that no matter what, she needed to go to the beach. Whether she wanted it or not, she _needed_ it.

"Which…beach do you wish to visit, Erik?" she asked, trying to sound calm, her shaky voice betraying her.

"Trestraou," he replied simply.

Her head snapped up in his direction and she stared at him. His expression was unreadable, and she wondered why he would choose such a place so arbitrarily.

"_Trestraou_? Oh. Yes. Yes, I remember that place. The beaches are golden in the sunlight, Erik. They are quite a sight to behold." She attempted a smile. "Our villa is fairly close to the inlet, did you know that?"

"Yes," he said softly. "The owners of the villa informed me of that."

After several minutes of walking, they reached the inlet. Christine reached down to remove her shoes. "You might want to remove yours as well, Erik. You don't want to have to walk back to the villa in sandy shoes, my love," she smiled. She was surprised at how the sight of the reflective sea calmed her nerves almost immediately. She smelled the salt and felt the breeze in her hair as she closed her eyes. "Papa," she whispered, almost inaudibly. "Papa, I remember."

Erik watched as she let go of his hand and started out onto the golden sand alone, walking toward the edge of the water. She laughed as it rolled up on the shore and splashed her feet. "It's freezing!" she called to him, smiling blissfully, as innocent as a child. No one else was in sight that day, and Erik was glad. He bent to remove his shoes, feeling foolish as he did so. _I feel like a child_, he mused. _Perhaps this is one of the things that I should have been able to enjoy in my childhood…_ He stepped on to the sand, which he noted was quite temperate, even in the sun. Walking nearer to Christine, he looked down at his feet, which were covered completely in the golden grains. As he again turned his gaze to his wife, he saw that she was motionless, staring out into the water. Before he could reach her, she suddenly turned and began to run down the beach, her back to him, heading toward a grouping of boulders. "Christine! Wait!" Erik called to her, but she did not respond. Worried, he broke into a run as well until he reached the boulders. She had climbed upon a larger one, and was again gazing out into the sea. "Christine?"

She did not respond.

"Christine! _Angel_!"

She turned her head to look at him, tears in her eyes. "Oh, Erik. Erik…." She began to weep bitterly.

He dropped his shoes and case gently, climbing up to stand next to her. His arms instinctively wrapped themselves around her, and he breathed into her hair. "Mon ange, are you alright?"

"No. No, Erik, I don't think I am," she replied, still weeping.

He moved her to face him and tilted her chin upward. "Talk to me."

"I don't want to hurt you, Erik. I…I don't know…I don't think I can say what I'm feeling…"

He pressed a finger to her lips to silence her. "Christine, _I know_."

"What?"

He furrowed his brows and stared intently into her confused brown eyes. "Do you think that I brought you here by accident?"

"You…what are you _talking_ about, Erik?"

"I want you to be honest with me and with yourself. I have faced my past, mon ange. It is time for you to face yours…to deal with it and let it go. Let it become a fond memory and nothing more. Today we will sing a requiem for your guilt."

Her jaw dropped in disbelief. "How…how could you know this? How could you know that I have felt this way?"

He smiled meekly. "I know guilt when I see it, Christine. I have lived it. And it will be as poison to you and to our marriage if you do not let it go now. You first met him here, didn't you?"

Christine was astonished. _Is it not enough that he is a magician among other things? Is he now also a mind reader?_ "I…yes…when we were children. Right here…by these very boulders."

Erik nodded. "You may not recall, but you _did_ share a few details with me some time ago, when you still believed me to be your Angel of Music. The other details, mon ange, I learned from watching you…_knowing_ you." He wrapped his arms around her waist and gently kissed her cheek from behind.

"Erik," she began slowly, "this place…it reminds me of my father and Raoul. I so wish that it didn't! I love my father, and I am thankful for the happy memories that I have here, but…I also have memories of that little boy who rescued my scarf from the sea so many years ago. I dreamed of him last night, Erik…of Raoul." She hung her head, ashamed. Erik was silent, knowing that at last she was ready to share her heart with him. "Why is it that I have caused so much pain?" she spoke in anguish. "My actions have come back to haunt me…I've hurt Raoul, I've hurt you…and in my dream, Raoul told me that I would regret what I have done." She turned her head and glanced up into his eyes, which were now their usual calm blue-green. "I know he meant that I will regret choosing you after all."

Erik studied her for a moment. "Do you believe that?"

"No," she answered quietly. "No…I just know that I've hurt him so deeply, and my fear is that he will choose _not_ to find his own happiness because of the pain I've caused him. What if he holds on to the past, Erik? What if he refuses to let me go?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her mind recalled a time not so long before when it was Erik that she feared would not move on. _"He'll take me, I know…we'll be parted forever…he won't let me go." _

"That would be _his_ choice, and the fault would not be yours. We make our _own_ choices, Christine. I believe that one day, he will move on." Erik said this so confidently that Christine wondered if he had some strange insight of which she was unaware.

"I know…I know you're right," she whispered. "And I know that I was not supposed to belong to him. I thank God that He showed me the truth before it was too late for us…_all_ of us." She shook her head. "But I did love him, Erik. I really did. Not the way I love you…but I cannot change the fact that I was once willing to marry him, though clearly it was not meant to be. I cannot change the fact that my heart will always love him somehow, as my friend and childhood sweetheart, even though I have chosen a life apart from him. Can you accept that?"

Erik caressed her face and smiled down at her. Months ago, he would likely have exploded into a jealous rage upon hearing such words. Though it pained him somewhat to hear that she did indeed still care for the young Viscomte, he knew that she was doing nothing wrong. "Christine, love is a gift. You want what is best for him, and there is no shame in that. Your heart is not divided…this I know. I could never expect or ask you to stop loving him, just as I would never expect you to stop loving little Giry, or Monique. They are a part of who you are, and I do accept that."

"Thank you," she said, near tears. "Thank you for hearing me and for understanding. May…may I have a few moments here…alone, please? I want to say goodbye."

"Of course, mon amour. I will wait for you by the sea."

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**A/N:** Thanks so much for the reviews! I'm so glad to hear from some of you who are new to this story, and those of you who haven't left reviews before. It means a LOT to me to get reader response. Sorry I haven't been able to update every day…I'm writing and editing as quickly as I can, though, so hopefully quality will make up for frequency of updates! –smile-


	51. Chapter 51

_Disclaimer: See numerous other chapters. It's there!_

**Chapter Fifty-One**

Christine took Erik's hand and they walked at a leisurely pace back to the villa. They had completely bypassed the lunch hour, and both were quite hungry. "Shall I make a valiant attempt at our first meal together, mon ange?" Christine laughed lightheartedly.

"If you wish," he said, cocking an eyebrow at her. "And perhaps I will assist you in the kitchen."

"Well, Monsieur Durand, I would be glad to have your assistance, as you are a fine chef, indeed," she giggled. "Thank you for the kind offer."

He kissed her knuckles lightly. "Milady," he bowed dramatically, opening the front door and allowing her inside first.

They laughed playfully as they prepared supper, Erik singing to her in several languages as many nonsensical children's songs as he could recall. He grasped her hand, twirling her about the room, until she collapsed dizzily in his arms. They returned, breathless, to their food preparations. "Later, mon ange, I will sing for you as many _love_ songs as one can tolerate," he winked at her suggestively.

She stared at him for a moment, stirring their finished stew with a wooden spoon. Suddenly, she halted and lay the spoon against the side of the pot. Erik was slicing a loaf of bread when he felt her arms come around his waist. Her mouth was near his shoulder blade, and she placed a kiss to it through his white shirt. "I think that I should like to hear them _now_, Erik," she whispered, sending a rush of heat through his body. He stopped what he was doing to take her in his arms, and they quickly made their way upstairs. By the time they returned, the stew was cold and the bread growing stale….and neither one was bothered by it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day, it rained for several hours. Erik and Christine took the opportunity to stay indoors, reading books as well as learning arts of married life not taught in books. Later in the day the rain had ceased and they went out to the balcony to watch the sun set over the town. Erik pointed out several buildings and proceeded to describe different aspects of their architecture to his wife.

"I have been meaning to ask you…how on earth did you learn all of this, Erik? From books?" she questioned him, never failing to be impressed by his vast array of knowledge on many subjects.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well, somewhat…my father was a master-mason. I learned much from him before I…before my mother left."

Christine wrinkled her brow in confusion. "But, Erik…in the document that Raoul showed me, it said that your father was an unknown wealthy gentleman. I don't understand."

"Yes, the man who sired me was indeed an 'unknown' wealthy gentleman. My mother was very young, and she had of course been promised so much by this man. But when she was found to be with child, he disappeared completely, and never came back. I don't know exactly when it happened, of course, as I just discovered the truth of my deformity months ago, but she must have become desperate at some point and tried to end her pregnancy. Perhaps she thought that her lover would return if she did so…truly, I don't know. But the man whom I refer to as my 'father' was actually not related to me by blood. He married my mother shortly before I was born, because he had known her for a very long time and cared for her a great deal. He did not wish to see her living in squalor with a child that she could not raise alone." He paused for a moment, noticing the expression of fascination on her face. He smiled at her, knowing the answer to the question before he even asked. "Am I boring you, mon ange?"

"_Boring_ me? Heavens, **no**! I want to know _everything_, Erik. Please…continue." She steadied her elbow on the balcony railing and rested her head on her hand, nodding very seriously for him to go on. The wind picked up momentarily, blowing her hair back and causing her dress to billow around her. Erik found himself staring at her beauty in the orange-streaked glow of the sunset before he could continue, still in awe of the fact that she belonged to him now…she shared his name, his bed…his entire life.

He shook his head as if to clear it. "My mother was horrified by my appearance, naturally, and she never showed me any kind of affection…never kissed me, embraced me…no physical contact whatsoever. She forced me to wear my mask whenever I was in her presence, and she essentially isolated me from the outside world. My father disliked her treatment of me, and there were many loud arguments that ensued because of it." He narrowed his eyes in thought. "I remember many nights when I curled up in a dark corner of my room, sinking into the shadows, for fear that my mother would try to come and harm me just to spite him. She blamed me for her life, one which she thought was quite wretched. She never even truly loved my father—I mean, the man whom I _called_ my father—and eventually, he died one day. I don't really know how…I just found him dead, in their bed, appearing to be sound asleep. No injuries, nothing. He was just gone…the one person who had bothered to care for me, even though he despised my ugliness. In my isolation, he had taken the time to teach me everything he could about his trade, and he was thrilled when he found that I had a natural aptitude for it. He…saw something in me, apparently, and we became fairly inseparable. Still, I dared not remove my mask in his presence…he had seen my face once before, but I did not wish for my appearance to come between us again. He taught me as much as my young, eager mind could handle, and gave me many books on the subject of architecture, which I devoured."

Erik swallowed hard then, and his voice cracked with the threat of tears. "My mother wasn't the same after he died. She touched me then, but only in a violent manner. I was too afraid to fight back, and after all, she was my mother…she was all that I had. I tried to run away twice, but I continued to come back, letting myself into the house through my bedroom window each time without her knowledge. Mother didn't even know that I had attempted to leave…not that she would have cared. After some time, I noticed that there was no food in the house, and she was growing more restless and unstable by the day. One day I was tinkering in my room and she came in, telling me that we were to go on an outing. I was thrilled, but I had no idea why she had suddenly decided that I could be a part of the 'outside world.' She took me to a fair just a few miles from our house, and I was dazzled by everything that I saw…tents full of oddities and unusual sights…things I had certainly never seen before. My mother left me next to a tent for a few moments and I saw her talking to a large man nearby. I didn't know at the time what was happening, but that night she took me home and told me that the next day, I was to go and live with the gypsies. Just like that. Go and live with the gypsies…well, I had no idea what to do! My mother said many things that made no sense, so I had no intention of taking her seriously. I awoke the next day and she was nowhere to be found. All of her belongings were gone, every trace of her swept from the house."

Christine gasped in shock. Moisture glistened in her eyes as she questioned him, distraught. "How _old_ were you?"

"I'm not certain…my birthday was never celebrated…but I believe that I was likely around eight years old. I knew that there was no food in the house, and I also knew what she had told me the night before. I realized that for once, she had been honest with me. So, I packed what few clothes I had, and several books, and I left. I went straight to the gypsy fair and found the man that my mother had spoken with. Much to my shock, he had apparently purchased me from my mother the day before. _Purchased_…like cattle. From that day on, I was treated as such. My extra clothing and books were torn apart and used as kindling for the fires, and I was caged like an animal." Erik paused, sighing deeply. "But this isn't what you asked, is it? You simply wondered about how I came to learn architecture. So, there you have it…and much more than you wanted to know, I presume."

Tears poured from Christine's eyes down her cheeks. She straightened and flung herself into his chest, clinging to him as if he were a dream about to fade away. "Oh, Erik…" she cried over and over, not knowing what to say. He held her tenderly, stroking her back.

"It's all right now, mon ange. I'm alive and well, as you can see. My wounds are healing gradually, with the Lord's help. Please don't cry." He kissed her head. "Please don't cry, Christine."

She lifted her head from his chest and reached up to clasp her hands behind his neck. "Erik…let me…let _me_ touch you," she begged him, still crying. "Let _me_ hold you and love you. I'm so sorry…oh, Erik, I'm so sorry." She placed a fervent kiss to his lips, her tears wetting his face, and he returned her kiss with equal emotion. She pulled away, at last looking into his eyes. "Let me…" she said, taking his hands and leading him back into their room. She never took her eyes from his as she slowly removed his mask, setting it on the bedside table. "I love you," she said, pressing her lips to his once more, in a desperate attempt to help heal the wounds of his past. She ran her hands over his exposed face lovingly, nearly bringing Erik to tears. Supper was forgotten that night as they comforted each other until the first rays of dawn, at last drifting into deep and dreamless slumber.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine jerked awake at a harsh knocking on the front door of the villa. She noticed immediately that Erik was already out of bed, and had apparently taken his robe and mask with him downstairs before she had even heard a sound. She sat up, listening, hoping to hear Erik's voice…but the only sound was that of the wind, and as she looked out the window, she saw large clouds forging a path across the sky, dreary and overcast. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she quietly climbed from the bed and tossed her silken robe about her shoulders, tying the sash securely. Just before she could step from the bedroom, the door opened and Erik stood before her, holding something in his hand.

"Oh! Good morning…who was that at the door, Erik?"

He stared at his hands, and Christine turned her attention to a paper that he was holding…a telegram. He did not respond to her immediately, continuing to stare in disbelief at the message before him. "Erik?" Christine repeated, growing uneasy. "What is it, mon amour? Is it bad news?"

At last, he looked up and met her gaze, his own eyes full of sorrow. "We shall have to return home at once, mon ange. I'm afraid that my employer has had some sort of heart failure…and he passed away."

"_Monsieur Giroux?_ Oh, no! Did he have a family? I assume that he did…but…oh, how very unexpected!"

"Yes, mon ange, I believe that he does have a family…daughters, perhaps? I cannot recall…but we must pack at once and return to Paris. From there, I shall need to travel to Melun…Monsieur Laurent says here that he has information about the funeral arrangements. Quickly, Christine…"

Erik rubbed her arm distractedly and set the telegram on the bedside table, glancing around the room at their belongings. Christine gathered everything she could find, assisting him as well as packing her own things. They hastily dressed and made the bed, checking the house to make certain that they left it in good condition. They locked the villa and placed the key where the owners had originally hidden it for them. "We will have to walk a short way to find transportation, I'm afraid," Erik sighed, hoisting the bags on to his shoulders and into his arms. _Surely pack mules must have it easier than this!_ he grimaced. They walked for several minutes before they were able to catch a cab. "To the train station at Lannion," Erik huffed at the driver, dropping the bags into the cab, not caring whether his masked face was seen. The driver nodded, pretending not to notice the flesh-colored mask. Christine settled herself inside and Erik joined her, sitting rather stiffly on the seat. His nerves were on edge and he was finding it difficult to relax. At last they were on their way, and Christine snuggled into Erik's chest, not knowing what to say. He was extremely quiet as well, feeling a great loss and uncertainty at once. _What of Monsieur Giroux's family? And what of his business? Will I still have employment? Lord, I have a wife to provide for now, as well. _ He felt a bit guilty for thinking so selfishly, but he couldn't help it. He was worried.

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**A/N**: Thank you to my three reviewers for the last chapter. I appreciate the time you took to comment. I apologize for not updating as frequently as I was toward the beginning…I am doing my best! Thanks for reading, and PLEASE drop me a review! Do I have to bake you Phantom cookies, perhaps? -grins-


	52. Chapter 52

_Disclaimer: see previous chapters_

**Chapter Fifty-Two**

They waited for two hours at the crowded station before they departed on the train, and Christine was desperately searching for things to say to Erik during that time. She twisted her hands nervously, disturbed by several prying eyes that were staring at her cloaked husband, but he didn't seem to realize it…or if he _did_, he didn't appear to be bothered. He simply stared down at his hands and smoothed out the folds of his cloak periodically, and…it seemed to Christine…that he was counting the tiles in the floor. Each time she tried to ask him questions or speak about something they had seen or done at Perros, his responses were "hmmm" and "yes." Tired of the one-word answers, she finally gave up on conversation with her husband. _He is distracted, naturally_, she thought. _Still, I wish he would hold my hand…something…anything! _

At last, they boarded the train, taking their luggage to their seats with them. Christine promised herself that the next time they went on a trip, she wouldn't pack so many bags. Erik remained emotionally distant for the most part, and she wished that she could infiltrate his mind for a single moment. _What can I do to help him, Lord? Why isn't he talking? Surely it has nothing to do with **me**, does it?_ She sat down, heaving a sigh of frustration as she turned away from her husband to stare out the window at the scenery. Her stomach suddenly rumbled with hunger, and she recalled that they hadn't eaten yet that day, and it was already past noon. Erik spoke to her at last.

"Are you hungry?"

She continued to stare out the train window. "It seems that I am," she said flatly, annoyed with his interminable silence up until that point.

"Let me see if I can get us something to eat, then," Erik replied, shifting in his seat. As he began to get up, Christine's temper flared.

"I was beginning to wonder if you even remembered that I was _here _with you," she said disdainfully, still preferring to study the scenery, her posture rigid and cold.

"_What?_"

She faced him then, shooting him a wounded glance. "You've barely spoken to me since we left the villa, Erik. I know that you must be grieving and thinking about many things, but I am your _wife_, not a piece of _luggage_," she remarked indignantly.

Erik's mouth hung open in surprise. "Christine, I—I'm _sorry_," he began, his blue-green eyes roaming over her face apologetically. "I didn't realize…I am just feeling…I don't know…."

"Erik, I can tell that you aren't being completely honest with me, mon ange. Your voice may hold the ability to disguise your true feelings, but your eyes _always _reveal the truth. _Tell _me, please. Allow me to help you, if I can," she said softly, placing a delicate hand on his cheek.

Sighing, he shook his head. "I don't want to burden you, Christine. I…I apologize that our honeymoon was cut short. I feel terrible about it."

"It wasn't your fault, Erik! And the time we _did_ spend there was wonderful. I enjoyed every moment…and we made some lovely new memories there, didn't we?" She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with humor.

He had to chuckle. "Yes, mon amour, we certainly did." He drew an arm about her shoulders. "I suppose that what is really bothering me is what might happen to my position now that Monsieur Giroux is gone. I don't know who is to take over the firm, and whoever acquires it will be able to terminate anyone's employment at will. I have promised to care for you, Christine…and now I'm afraid we may get off to a precarious start."

She shrugged. "I'm not concerned, Erik. We will be together in plenty or in want, remember? I also have faith that the Lord will provide for us. If He can bring us together after everything we've been through, then my love, He is able to do _anything_!" she laughed lightly.

Erik smiled at her proudly, leaning away from her to look directly into her deep brown eyes. "You know something? I'm glad that I told you, after all. You just said some very wise things, _ma belle femme_. Thank you."

"That's what I'm here for, _mon beau mari_," she giggled.

"Don't _tease_ me with such words, Christine," Erik said, mocking a fierce glare.

"I mean it, Erik. You are the most handsome man in the world to me, because you are _mine_," she whispered, pulling his neck down and kissing him softly. "I'm glad that I could help." She smiled contentedly and snuggled up closely to him. Within seconds, her stomach raised its protests again.

Erik laughed. "I think I'd better get that food now, hadn't I?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sun had set and the dinner hour passed before the couple arrived back at the Laurent estate. The moon was enveloped in a blanket of fog, and it looked as if it might rain. Erik and Christine quickly dropped their luggage inside the front door of the guest house and immediately sought an audience with Monsieur Gregoire at the main house.

Guillaume showed them to the sitting parlor. "Monsieur Erik! Madame Christine!" Monsieur Laurent greeted them warmly and immediately noticed Erik's flesh-colored mask--a stark contrast to the white. He didn't want to make him self-conscious, however, so he decided it was best not to mention it. "It was good of you to come back from your trip so quickly. This is such shocking news…for all of us."

"Yes, and I'm so sorry to hear of it," Erik replied. "Have you heard of any funeral arrangements?"

"Yes, in fact, I believe that there will be a graveside service on Friday that we are planning to attend. Have you…given any thought to attending yourself?" Monsieur Laurent asked him warily. "I'm aware that it could be an awkward situation for you, Erik, but…"

"I'm not certain if it's wise," Erik interrupted. "There may be people there who would not take kindly to seeing me…_or_ my wife," he said darkly, his eyes revealing his clear apprehension.

"I see. Yes, I'm sure that the Viscomte will be in attendance." Monsieur Laurent scratched his chin, glancing at Christine. "Your hesitancy is understandable. May I make a suggestion?"

"Of course."

"Perhaps you should send flowers or a memorial along with a note, stating that you regret being unable to attend, but send your sympathy for the family." Monsieur Laurent raised an eyebrow, wondering what Erik's response would be. Before he could answer, Christine chimed in.

"I think it's a lovely idea," she said, turning to Erik with a slight smile. "And it is far safer. I do not want any kind of confrontation between you two," she said softly, in a slightly scolding tone. _And you can't risk being arrested, either_, she remembered, careful to keep her thoughts to herself. _There could be many Parisians in attendance._

"As if it would be **me** who would cause the confrontation?" Erik grumbled. "Really, Christine, that is **insulting**!" He folded his arms, brooding.

Monsieur Laurent glanced between the two awkwardly, hoping to change the subject. "Well, I assume that you'll want to be at the reading of the will, at any rate…it only stands to reason."

Both Erik and Christine turned to Monsieur Gregoire with curious expressions. "What do you mean, 'it only stands to reason?' I know nothing about a will," Erik replied, perplexed.

"Oh." Monsieur's expression mirrored Erik's. "I…I just assumed that you did…you are mentioned in it, Erik. You received no notice of this?"

"No," Erik shook his head, wondering why on earth his employer would mention his name in his last will and testament. "I have been gone, but…" he trailed off, his brow furrowed in thought. "I didn't check outside the guest house to see if a messenger had left anything."

"I had a short visit with Monsieur Giroux's widow today when I was in town, and she spoke of it. She said that you had been mentioned, and to tell you that her husband was very pleased with all of your work, your promptness in meeting deadlines, your attention to detail…he spoke of your work often, it seems."

Erik was stunned. "He did?"

"Yes, apparently, and rightly so. You are one of the most gifted architects that I have ever seen." Monsieur Laurent cleared his throat, noting Erik's look of pride at the sincere compliment. "Well, the reading is the day after the funeral, and it is only for those whose names are mentioned in the will…and the Viscomte de Chagny's name, I'm certain, is _not_ there," he gave Erik a half-smile. "Would you feel more comfortable if I were to accompany you?

"Yes, I think I may," Erik replied hazily. "Please…excuse us, Monsieur…we have not yet eaten our supper, and we are very weary from our day of travel." He turned to Christine, taking her hand as she smiled apologetically.

"Oh, of course. You both get some rest. But perhaps I could have the cook prepare something for you?"

Erik held up a hand in protest. "No…no. That won't be necessary. We'll be fine. Thank you." He led Christine out the front door and they returned to the guest house by carriage, exhausted and bewildered from the day's events.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What on earth can you be thinking? I'll not allow you to pour more of our parents' money into this frivolous project! The Populaire will be rebuilt, I'm sure, but the managers will simply have to find themselves a new patron!"

Raoul stared at his brother in mild surprise. He knew that though Philippe had frequented the Opera himself, he had always believed that his younger brother's patronage of the arts was a worthless undertaking. "Brother, our parents support the arts…why could you never understand their love for such things?" He leaned against the desk, shoulders hunched in frustration.

Philippe cast him a haughty glance. "Well, I can't say that I didn't _enjoy_ myself at the Opera…or _afterwards_, for that matter," he smirked. "But I believe that our family money is better spent on other ventures and holdings here…not on your memory of a dreadful saga which is best forgotten."

Raoul snorted. "And what would _you_ know about it, Philippe? You were so busy cavorting backstage with that dancer of yours…I'm surprised that you'd be interested in anyone else's affairs besides your own," he said disparagingly.

"My dear brother," Philippe replied, dripping with sarcasm. "Dear, naïve Raoul! The news of your little fling with Mademoiselle Daae spread through the Populaire like a wildfire! Everyone thought you were a fool to cling to that petulant child…no matter how curvaceous and tempting she was," he winked.

Raoul was incensed. "Any more comments of that sort, and you will regret it."

Philippe narrowed his eyes and advanced on his younger brother. "I don't think so, _Brother_. And you will do as I say…**I **am the Comte de Chagny, and you shall show me the respect that I deserve. Discontinue this project. **Now**."

Raoul straightened to his full height and firmly held his ground. "We shall see, Brother. I just received word today that Monsieur Giroux from the firm in Melun that I hired has passed away. I plan to attend his graveside service, and I hope to find out if his firm intends to continue the drafts for the Populaire. If they do, I have no intention of halting what has already begun."

The Comte gave him an icy glare. "If I find that you have wasted our family's money just to suit your own _sick obsession_…your reputation will be in **my** hands. Remember that." His eyes blazing, he turned swiftly, leaving the room with a slam of the door.

Raoul let out his breath slowly and slumped into his desk chair. _**That** went well_, he grimaced.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine had made some tea and Erik settled into the armchair by the window. He had fallen into his brooding silence again since the news of his inclusion in Monsieur Giroux's will. Upon arriving back at the guest house, he had taken the time to search near the front door and found a small envelope addressed to him with the information inside. He sat, holding it in his hands, reading it over and over.

"Are you alright?" Christine asked him softly, handing him a teacup and saucer, and leaning in to kiss him on the temple.

He looked up at her with a vague expression. "Yes, bel ange, I'm fine. I just…I just don't understand why I would be mentioned in my employer's will. After all, I've only known him for a matter of weeks."

She laid a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know, mon cher, but surely this is a blessing." She grinned at him, shaking his shoulder slightly. "Be _glad_ about it, would you?"

"I'm too shocked to be glad," he replied matter-of-factly. "I'm tired…I think we should finish our tea and go to bed. It's been a very long and mentally exhausting day." He gave her a sleepy smile, and she knelt beside him, bringing her face eye level with his.

"We _are_ still on our honeymoon, you know…even though we're back home now," she smiled sweetly at him.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise at her veiled suggestion. "True," he said, lifting his hand to trace her jawline with his fingertips.

"Finish your tea. I'm going to get ready for bed." She glanced coyly over her shoulder at him as she left the room. "Don't be long, Erik."

There was no mistaking the tone of her voice. Erik hurriedly swallowed the remainder of his tea and set the letter he had been reading on the side table. He put out the lights and found his way back to the bedroom where he found his wife waiting for him, already in bed.

Christine patted the bed next to her. "Come and let me give you a massage, mon ange. You must be stiff from traveling. It will help you to relax, and you'll sleep better." Grateful for the offer, he sat down on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes. She crawled up on her knees behind him and began to work the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. She could feel his body beginning to grow heavier as he leaned back against her. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Hmmm? No, I…well, maybe a little," he confessed. "I'm sorry, mon amour, I don't mean to."

"It's alright," she laughed lightly, patting his shoulders. "Better?"

"Yes, much better. Thank you." He turned to lay down on the bed, taking her into his arms.

"Well, it certainly has been an eventful week," she began. "But I had a lovely time in Perros. Thank you so much for taking me there, even though it was uncomfortable for you, mon ange." She curved an arm around his waist. "You haven't dressed for bed yet, Erik," she noticed as she lay her head on his shoulder. "Perhaps you should, because it's--" She stopped short as she felt his breathing become steady and even. She leaned up to look at him, his facial muscles relaxed and his demeanor peaceful. _Asleep? Already? He must have truly been exhausted. _She shook her head and smiled. _Well, Lord, grant him the rest that he needs…and give him the wisdom to endure whatever lies ahead this week. _ She carefully reached up and removed his mask, setting it on her own bedside table so as not to wake him. Pulling the blankets up over them both, she snuggled into him with a thankful heart before she too succumbed to deep slumber.

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**A/N:** A HUGE "THANK YOU" to everyone who reviewed my last chapter. Phantom cookies for ALL of you! -grin- And yes, Raoul is BACK in this chapter. I must say, he's beginning to grow on me a little...but juuuuust a little, that's all! Lol Please click the teeny button in the corner now that says "Review" and give me some feedback, would you? (And Barbara, where are you?)


	53. Chapter 53

_A/N: Big hugs to all of my reviewers! Have I lost some of you, though? It seems that perhaps since I haven't been able to update as frequently, many of you have dropped off this fic. Did I scare you away somehow? I certainly hope that I did not offend anyone with my wedding night scene or anything else. It's making me wonder, though..._

_Disclaimer: see other chapters_

**Chapter Fifty-Three**

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen."

"Amen," came the response from the solemn crowd gathered at the Giroux graveside. The headstones seemed to glow in the light of the mid-morning sun as the mourners began to mill about again, murmuring their condolences to the man's widow and three daughters upon passing by his flower-covered casket.

The Viscomte de Chagny caught sight of Gregoire Laurent and politely made his way through the throng of black-clad figures toward him. "Monsieur Gregoire, hello! It's nice to see you…though I must say it's not in the best of circumstances."

"Hello, Viscomte. Lovely to see you as well. How have you been?" Monsieur Laurent asked him cordially, but with a slight uneasiness. Christine's marriage to Erik had unfortunately complicated the longtime friendship that the Laurents had held with the Chagnys.

Raoul sighed. "I've…been well, I suppose. Pity about Monsieur Giroux. He seemed like a very kind man. Did you know that his firm had agreed to design the plans for the new Populaire?"

Monsieur Laurent smiled cordially. "Yes, I believe I had read that in the _Epoque_. They have some very talented architects there…I've heard."

"Yes." Raoul nodded. "I…I was hoping to find out what the status of that project might be…now that the owner of the firm has passed on. You wouldn't happen to know what is to become of the firm's ownership, would you?" He hated to be asking for his own self-interest at a time like this…_a man just died, for heaven's sake_…but he was anxious to find out. The pressure he was receiving from his elder brother to discontinue the project was beginning to fray his nerves. Philippe had stopped by every day that week, demanding to see Raoul and expressing disgust with his methods of handling the family's affairs, as well as reminding his brother that the family had a "reputation to uphold."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know…I would assume that he's passed it on to family members or others." Monsieur Laurent shifted uncomfortably. "You'll likely be notified by the new owner after the reading of the will. That's how things are usually done." He smiled weakly.

"Ah." Raoul gave a slight frown. "Well…good to know," he replied, trying to think of a way to change the subject. "So…how is your family?"

"Fine, thank you for asking. Amêlie is suffering a slight illness right now, but…usually, Suzette keeps busy by chasing Amêlie around the house," he chuckled.

Raoul looked puzzled. "_Chasing_ her? But…but I thought…. Has something _happened_ to your daughter, Monsieur Gregoire?"

Monsieur Laurent realized his blunder upon seeing Raoul's expression. "Oh…well, no…it's just that…she now has a wheelchair in which to move about freely."

"Oh! How wonderful for her! You purchased it for her recently?"

"No, not exactly. It…was a gift from a family friend." He stared at Raoul, silently wishing for the entire conversation to be over.

Raoul sensed an awkward tension between them, incorrectly assuming the reason for it. He decided that it would be best to speak directly. "So, I am assuming that you have heard about Christine…I mean, that we are no longer engaged."

_You don't know the half of it, Son._ "Yes, yes, I heard. How are you doing? Are you…handling everything well enough?"

Raoul attempted a brave smile. "Yes. As well as can be expected, I suppose. It turns out that she…." He swallowed to keep his emotions in check. "It seems that she is in love with…someone else."

Monsieur Laurent nodded. "Ah. I suppose it's best that you discovered this before you married her, then."

"I suppose so," Raoul replied, casting him a queer glance. "I should be going now…please give my best to your wife and daughter."

"Thank you, Viscomte," Monsieur Laurent bowed slightly. "I will do that. Good day to you." He smiled warmly at Raoul, and couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him. _Poor boy seems absolutely heartsick_, he thought woefully.

As they parted ways, Monsieur Laurent passed by to speak with Madame Giroux and her daughters, who were huddled together, comforting one another. The young women were all lovely, with gray eyes and dark hair, but only one was of marrying age, and she had been promptly snatched from her teenage years by a fortunate young man nearly seven years older than herself. "I'm so very sorry for your loss, Madame," he nodded to the widow, who seemed entirely too young to be in such a situation.

"Monsieur Laurent," she smiled with an ingrained sense of politeness. "Thank you so much for coming. You have been a good friend to this family over the years."

"Thank you for saying so, Madame," he replied humbly. "I wanted you to know as well that I have spoken with Erik Durand…he has come back into town after his very recent marriage and we will both be attending the reading of your late husband's will tomorrow."

"Oh, I'm glad that you were able to reach him. I will look forward to seeing you both, then."

"Yes, tomorrow. God be with you, Madame," Monsieur Gregoire said softly, placing his dark hat on his head as he turned toward his carriage. _Erik is a very private man_, he thought grimly. _I certainly hope that tomorrow will not lead to disaster._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Stop the carriage here, please." Raoul sat for a few moments before gathering the courage to open the door and step out. _What am I thinking? She won't be glad to see me._ He frowned, trying to think of a good reason for his visit. _Perhaps this shall be my first attempt at establishing a cordial friendship with her. Yes, that will do. Just a friendly visit because I was passing by. After all, it would be rude not to stop._ He straightened his coat and approached the door, resolving to be a kind and civil gentleman regardless of the circumstances. Stepping inside, he saw no one at first. Then after several seconds, Madame Dubois entered the storefront room.

"Monsieur le Viscomte!" She swiftly tucked some loose strands of hair behind her ears. "H-how are you today?"

"I am well, thank you. And you?"

"Ah…busy, very busy. How can I help you?"

"I was wondering if I might have a word with Mademoiselle Daae."

An awkward silence hung in the air for a matter of seconds before Madame Dubois' voice returned to her. "_Mademoiselle_ Daae?" she replied uneasily. "Oh…oh, my. You haven't heard, then."

A lump formed in Raoul's throat. "Heard _what_, Madame?"

"She—she is on her _honeymoon_, Viscomte. She was married but a few days ago."

Raoul could not conceal his shock. "So _soon_? I knew she would be getting married, but…." He shook his head in disbelief. "I had no idea that she would be married within days…_weeks_, perhaps, but not **days**!"

Madame Dubois noticed the increasing tension in his voice. "I am sorry to have been the one to inform you of this, Viscomte. I assume that she will be returning to work after her honeymoon…I have not heard otherwise. Shall I tell her that you stopped to see her?" She smiled toothily, and Raoul's stomach began to churn.

"You-you wouldn't happen to know her married name, would you?" he asked her, feeling more ill by the second. He couldn't explain why he had a burning desire to know such information, other than the fact that he still felt it necessary to somehow remain connected to her...even if he never saw her face to face again.

"No, I'm afraid not. Mademoiselle…I mean, _Madame_ Christine seems to be a rather private young woman. I would never _dream_ of prying in her personal affairs," she replied, with a hint of righteous indignation.

_You most certainly **would**_, Raoul thought wryly. He nodded to her and turned to leave, but she stopped him by clearing her throat in an obvious manner. He turned back and met her eyes with a curious expression.

"I believe that the Girys may have the information that you seek, Viscomte. They took part in the wedding, so I assume that they would know her married name." She shot him a crooked smile.

He guiltily looked away and turned again toward the door, mumbling his thanks to her as he left. Stepping heavily into his carriage, he instructed his driver to travel down several streets in the general vicinity, looking for any signs of the Girys. He knew that immediately after the fire, they had stayed with friends, but he had no idea where to find them now that they had their own flat. He felt incredibly foolish for attempting to hunt them down, but he was compelled to know at least _some_ details about Christine's new life. _What is that monster's new name? Does he now think himself a man, like any other? _ He released a single huff of anguished laughter. _I can't believe that she's gone and married him in such haste. _ His heart felt as if it would break when his steady stream of thoughts led him to dwell on what certainly must have occurred between them on their wedding night. _ She should have been **my** Christine! He has **touched** her…he has--"_ He tightly closed his eyes as if to rid himself of such a vision. _No! He has taken away her purity and emptied his poisoned seed within her! _ "I **hate** him! I wish that I had found a way to rid the world of him **completely**!" He bashed his fist into the wall of the carriage, startling his driver.

"Are you alright, Viscomte?"

"Yes. Yes, I'll be **fine**," he replied through clenched teeth. _I have to find the Girys._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meg Giry stepped out of the apartment building and headed down the street to toward a nearby bakery. She was in dire need of something sweet, telling her mother instead that she simply wanted some fresh air. Hoping that she wouldn't be caught in the act, she glanced upward behind her at the windows of their flat. _So far, so good._ She smiled to herself as she walked along at a leisurely pace, hopeful about her upcoming audition with a touring ballet company. She walked past several shops, pulling her cloak more tightly around her to keep out the biting wind. She barely noticed as a black carriage passed her, traveling in the opposite direction, and slowed to a stop within seconds. Turning into the bakery at last, she stepped up to the glass case to choose a sweet for herself.

"Hmmm...I think I'll have...one of those," she said pointing to a chocolate eclair and licking her lips with anticipation. "How much?"

"I'll get that," came a male voice behind her.

Meg whirled around, startled. "_Viscomte_?" She stared at him in disbelief as he paid for her treat and handed it to her, smiling as warmly as he could muster.

"Little Meg, we are old friends, are we not? You may call me by my Christian name."

She sensed something unsettling and dishonest in the manner of his smile. _Has he followed me here?_ she suddenly wondered with horror. "Very well, _Raoul_...thank you for purchasing this for me, but it really wasn't necessary." The bitterness in her voice was plain. "Just stopping in for a bite to eat, were you?" She raised her eyebrows in suspicion, and his smile faded.

"Meg, have I done something? Are you upset with me?"

Her mouth gaped in surprise. "Have you _done_ something? Well, I must say that you've done enough, _that's_ for certain!" she hissed. "Christine was just trying to follow her own heart, and you made things _incredibly_ difficult for her by refusing to simply let her go when she asked it of you!"

"Oh, I see," he said, nodding. _As if she made no difficulties for me?_ he thought indignantly, but refrained from speaking his mind. "Even though Christine has forgiven me, it seems that you have not, Little Meg." He frowned. "She has even moved on and married her precious Phantom, I've heard. If _she_ is no longer bitter, then why should _you_ be? I've done no harm to you, and I never intended any harm to her."

"You're right, you know...she _has_ moved on, Raoul, and I suppose that I should as well. Have _you_?"

She glared at him, and he noticed in her a stubborn fierceness that he had not witnessed before. "I'll be honest with you...no, I don't suppose that I've completely dealt with my feelings for her...but I _would_ like to be her friend. Even if she **is** Madame le Fantôme now," he smirked.

"It's Madame _Durand_, and if you ever go near her, surely her husband will have your neck in a lasso before you can _blink_!" she retorted angrily, and spun on her heel to leave. "I'm sorry, but I just cannot discuss this with you any longer, or I may say something I **truly** regret! Good day to you, **Viscomte**!" She tossed her fine blond mane over her shoulders and strode out the door, the heels of her shoes clicking rapidly on the tiled floor.

Raoul stood, dumbfounded. He realized at once that a lump had formed in his throat. _What have I done? She seems to hate me! _ It took him a few moments to relax as he made his way back to his carriage and settled himself inside. As he did, a slow smile spread across his face. _Her **name**. She gave me Christine's married name._

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**A/N: ** See that little button down there that says "Submit Review"? Click it, please:)


	54. Chapter 54

_Disclaimer: I don't own POTO. Wish I did!_**  
**

**Chapter Fifty-Four**

Erik sat in stunned silence before the large mahogany desk, staring at the dark-haired, wiry man before him. _This can't be real. Surely I am dreaming!_

"Monsieur Durand? Monsieur? Are you quite alright?" At last, he turned his head to acknowledge the source of the voice. It was Madame Giroux, who was studying him with a worried expression.

"Y-yes, Madame. I am. Thank you. I just...I don't know what to say."

"Just say that you'll continue in a manner worthy of this firm's reputation, Monsieur Durand," said the stout, quick-witted bald man called Raleigh. He was a partner in the Giroux firm, and had just found that he, too, had inherited part ownership of Giroux & Associates.

"And you do realize that...you may have to travel to Melun at least twice a week now to ensure that things are operating smoothly," his partner Beauvais chimed in. He twirled his oily moustache out of sheer habit, and it was beginning to annoy Erik.

"Yes. Yes, I understand, gentlemen," he replied, attempting to overcome the shock of learning that he had inherited one-third of his late employer's architectural firm. Madame Giroux was to receive a generous portion of the continual income from the firm's business, in accordance with her husband's will, and the rest was to be divided among the three co-owners.

The attorney cleared his throat. "Sign here, please, Monsieur Durand," he smiled formally, pushing papers toward Erik. Picking them up, he glanced again at Madame Giroux, who gazed admiringly at him. _What on earth did Monsieur Giroux **tell** this woman about me?_ he wondered. _If she only knew the life that I led but a few months ago... _ He swallowed and quickly turned his attention back to the papers, signing them with a flair. _Thank You, Lord. I don't know why You've given me this opportunity, but thank You._

The men all shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Erik was about to leave when Raleigh spoke up.

"You've done much of the work on the rebuilding project for the Opera Populaire, haven't you, Monsieur Durand?"

"I have." The last thing Erik wanted was to stay and exchange small talk. He was still suspicious of most people, and he feared that he might never fully rid himself of the ingrained survival instinct. He wanted to get home to share this news with Christine, who surely had been praying for him all morning. "What of it?"

"You'll need to be the one to contact the managers there to let them know the status of the project, as well as to inform them of the firm's new owners."

"I see."

"You're in charge of it now."

"Very well. I shall notify them by messenger. I prefer to do my business in writing, when possible."

"Yes. We can certainly understand _that_," Beauvais remarked carelessly.

Erik froze, his blazing eyes boring holes into Beauvais, whose sudden pale demeanor revealed that he had realized his faux pas. Erik spoke darkly, with cold aloofness. "If we are to have a civil working relationship, gentlemen, then let us be _clear_ about something, shall we? Remarks such as that one are offensive to me. I wear this mask not only for myself, but to spare others the horror of witnessing the defect with which I was born. I am a _man_, like you, and I will be treated with the same respect and dignity that you would give to any man in my position. Is that understood?"

Wide-eyed, Raleigh and Beauvais nodded in unison.

"Good. Well then, gentlemen, I must go home to my _wife_ now, so please excuse me." He kissed Madame Giroux's hand upon leaving, and she whispered to him discreetly. "Monsieur, thank you for the flowers and the kind words that you and your new wife sent in memory of my husband. I am so pleased to meet you at last. Perhaps you might both care to join me for dinner sometime at my home?"

"Thank you, Madame, we would be honored. Do take care of yourself and your family, please. And I will do my best to ensure that the firm brings in steady income, so that your share is enough to sustain you all in the absence of your husband. God be with you."

"And you as well, Monsieur Durand. I have full confidence in you, as did my husband. Thank you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine sat at the kitchen table, nervously drumming her fingers on the wooden surface. _Still no sign of a carriage. Why is it taking him so long? Surely he should have been back an hour ago. Oh, please, Lord—let everything have gone well today!_ She chewed her lip until it was bruised and peeling, moving from her chair only to take the tea kettle from the stove for the third time, pouring herself another cup. She sat down again and absentmindedly gazed at her left hand, twirling her wedding band in slow circles on her ring finger. Sipping her tea slowly, she closed her eyes and attempted to relax. After another half hour had passed, she was nearly sick with worry...or with too much tea, or both.

She nearly cried with relief when at last the familiar black carriage rounded the corner from the main house, and she set her teacup down so abruptly that she feared she had cracked the china. She jumped from her chair and raced to the door, throwing it open to await the carriage. A few moments later it arrived, and the small black door swung open, revealing Erik's familiar form. Christine was elated at the sight of him, and she nearly leapt into his arms as he ascended the wooden steps.

"Oh, Erik! I was so _worried_! You were gone such a long time, and I feared the worst! I thought that perhaps you had been detained by gendarmes, or that something had gone terribly wrong at the attorney's office. What happened? Did Monsieur Laurent sit in the room with you? What did they say?" She finally stopped to take a breath and Erik couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh, mon ange, you must calm yourself," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I'm fine. Everything is fine. In fact, it's _better_ than fine. It's quite near _miraculous_." He smiled at her and she wrapped her arms tightly about his waist, sighing with relief.

"I'm so glad! But what do you mean by _miraculous_?"

Erik straightened and stepped back from her so that he could look into her eyes. "Your husband is now the proud owner of one-third of Giroux and Associates."

"Wh-_what_? Do you really mean it?"

He nodded, smiling. Christine squealed and hugged him around his neck as he wrapped his arms about her waist, jubilantly spinning her in a circle. "I couldn't believe it myself, but I signed the papers, and it is legal. I was able to meet Madame Giroux, as well. She was very kind...she'd like us to come to dinner sometime...and to answer your question, no, Monsieur Laurent was not allowed to come into the office. He waited in an adjoining room. He told me afterward that he had suspected such an outcome, and he is pleased for us. I am co-owners with Messieurs Raleigh and Beauvais...both of whom I hope to be of good character and beyond reproach." He chuckled a bit, and added with a wink, "Not that I have any room to judge, mind you."

"Erik, mon cher, you are most _definitely_ of good character! Even if you couldn't say that a few months ago, you can certainly believe it _now_," Christine smiled up at him proudly. "Just look, Erik," she continued, shaking her head in disbelief. "Just look at how God has blessed you since that time. Look at how he has blessed _us_," she marveled, hugging his waist once again.

Erik lifted a hand and tangled it in her auburn curls. "Yes, he most certainly has. I believe this calls for a celebration, mon amour. What shall we do in honor of this special occasion?"

In wordless response, she reached up and placed her hand at the nape of his neck, pulling his face down to hers. As she pressed her lips to his, she heard the quick intake of breath through his nostrils. Suddenly, she was swept off of her feet and into his powerful arms, heading in the direction of their bedroom. The afternoon passed by them in a haze of passion, and they fell asleep in each other's arms at last, waking in barely enough time to dress for an evening meal with the Laurents.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Christine, ma cherie, you look absolutely radiant! I'm so sorry that your trip was cut short by such awful news. How are you?" Madame Suzette reached out warmly to embrace Christine as she entered the dining room ahead of Erik.

She smiled sheepishly. "I'm doing very well, thank you, Madame. We appreciate the invitation to dinner. I...am so glad that there is no awkwardness between us after..." Christine saw Erik's shoulders tensing uncomfortably. _After the whole debacle with Raoul._

Suzette made a swatting motion with her hand and smiled sincerely. "Oh, _that_? No, no, none at all. Ma cherie, you had no choice but to follow your heart. Frankly, I admire you for doing what you did. You turned away from the opportunity to become a Viscomtess, rejecting that grandiose lifestyle for a simpler one." She glanced at Erik, hoping that he would not misinterpret her comments. "And surely a _happier_ life, as well. I would hope to have done the same thing in your position."

Christine blushed. "Yes, Madame, we are quite happy. Thank you." She seated herself in the chair that Erik had slid out for her and arranged her skirts neatly.

Erik sat down in his chair and cleared his throat to speak. "Madame, I would like to thank you again for the generous wedding feast that you had for us here. It was wonderful, and we both appreciated it."

"Yes." Christine chimed in.

"Oh, I enjoyed it!" Suzette replied. "It's not often that I am asked to plan such events. It was great fun."

Erik nodded and glanced at the table momentarily, trying to think of some sort of polite topic of conversation as the meal was being brought in. Monsieur Laurent broke the silence at last with the subject foremost on everyone's minds.

"So, Christine, were you pleased to hear of your husband's good fortune today?" he smiled at her, laying a napkin across his lap.

"Very much so, Monsieur. I am so very proud of his accomplishments...but then, I always have been," she blushed, gazing at her husband next to her. Erik looked up when she said this, with an expression of slight surprise. Christine smiled at him. "He is truly the most talented man that I have ever known," she added, fixing her eyes on Erik's as she spoke. She thought that she saw his eyes beginning to moisten before Monsieur Laurent spoke again.

"And he is very fortunate to have a loving wife such as yourself, Madame," Monsieur Laurent added. "Well, shall we say the blessing and sample this wonderful meal?"

Erik frowned. "Aren't we going to wait for Mademoiselle Amêlie?"

Madame Suzette piped up. "Oh, I'm sorry, Monsieur Erik, but she's been ill for a few days, since just after your wedding. Probably from all of the planning and singing and such," she laughed lightly. "She should be fine soon. Gregoire? Would you say the blessing, please?" He did so, and everyone bowed their heads for a moment. Erik found himself disturbed at the thought of the young girl in poor health.

He looked at Madame Suzette. "What are her symptoms, if I may ask?"

"She has a bit of a sniffle, I believe, and a sore throat. She has had a sour stomach, also. She did have a fever the first night, but it's gone now and she seems to be on the mend...except for her stomach, that is. Poor child can't seem to keep anything down." She shook her head and sighed, taking a small bite of her food.

"Is she able to keep down liquids of any sort?" he pressed further.

Suzette looked at him queerly. "Well, not lately. Why do you ask?"

He bent forward to pick at the food with his fork. "Oh, I was just curious...I have read many medical journals in my time. Has she seen a physician?"

Monsieur Laurent replied this time. "Yes, our personal physician. He has been to see her twice, and we've done everything he's told us to do."

Erik squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. _I know that I could likely come up with an herbal remedy to take away the nausea_, he thought. "May I see her? Just for a short while?"

Gregoire and Suzette stared at each other briefly before Suzette nodded in approval. "Alright," Monsieur Gregoire replied. "I suppose she'd like that."

"Thank you, Monsieur, Madame," Erik nodded. "One last thing, if I may...would you permit me to give her an herbal remedy to alleviate her nausea so that she can digest fluids and recover more quickly?"

"I...I don't know, Erik," Monsieur Gregoire replied apologetically. "Perhaps it's best if we leave her treatment to traditional physicians. No offense to you, of course. We just...prefer to go with more well-established methods."

Erik felt insulted, and sarcasm began to seep into his voice. "Oh. I see. Just as the well-established practice of bloodletting was done before it was found to be archaic and harmful. Very well, have it your way. Your daughter may soon be so dehydrated that she will only become more ill. If she cannot keep down any nourishment, her body cannot heal!"

"Erik, mon cher, _please_!" Christine interjected, laying a hand on his arm. She then turned her attention to the Laurents, whose expressions mirrored her own shock at his outburst. "I...I think what my husband is trying to say is that...he would never do anything to harm your daughter. He only wants to help make her well, if he can. Is there really any harm done? If his remedy doesn't work, then she'll simply vomit it back up anyhow, won't she?"

Suzette relaxed. "Well..." she glanced at her husband. "I suppose you're right. What do you think, Gregoire?"

He sighed. "I suppose."

Erik stood abruptly. "Would you be so kind as to direct me to your kitchen?"

"Of course," Monsieur Laurent replied, rising from his own seat. "Follow me, please."

The two men left the room, leaving Suzette and Christine alone to do little more than smile politely at one another as they chewed their food. Monsieur Laurent returned a few moments later, a strange look on his face. "He seems to know where the garden is, at least. He's already found the remains of the plants and herbs that he needs." He chuckled. "I had to hunt around for the pots and pans myself. Perhaps I should send the cook in again."

Christine shook her head. "No, he'll be better off on his own. Trust him, Monsieur. I can see that he loves Amêlie dearly. They seem to be kindred spirits, don't you think?" she said, smiling.

"Well, they do relate to one another's suffering," Monsieur Laurent reasoned. "And they have the common love of music as well. You're right...I have no reason _not_ to trust him, Madame Christine. He has been nothing but a blessing to this family up until now," he said sincerely, lifting a forkful of food to his mouth.

"Well said, mon cher," Suzette added, patting his arm. "I hope that he can do some good. She really needs to eat...she is thin enough as it is, and we don't need her muscles becoming weaker."

"Perhaps simply seeing Erik will lift her spirit and help her to recover as much as the remedy will," Christine said hopefully.

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A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I appreciate all of your positive comments very, very much! So many of you guessed correctly about the will...you're all so smart:P Okay, it's time to click the li'l button again! LOL


	55. Chapter 55

_Disclaimer: See other chapters. I'm tired of writing these! -sigh-_

**Chapter Fifty-Five **

Raoul paced back and forth across the immoderate rug in his study, wondering what to do with the information that he had unwittingly obtained from Meg Giry. _A name_. _I have a name to put to that monster...Erik Durand. I could easily give his name to authorities and have him arrested for his crimes,_ he thought, almost gleefully. His conscience was beginning to voice its concerns, however, and it only served to make him more agitated. As soon as he had allowed the thought to roam freely about his consciousness, reality swept in like a merciless rainstorm. _She would hate me forever. I would never see her again, no matter what I said or did. Taking her husband from her would not bode well for me._

He thought that perhaps he could leak the information to the gendarmes in an anonymous tip, but surely his own guilt would never allow him to face his innocent Christine again if that were to happen. He had no idea how to use the information...except that he wished to hire an investigator to locate them and keep tabs on their comings and goings. He would have been sickened by the idea, had he not deluded himself into believing that one day Christine would need him...most likely to rescue her from her seemingly unpredictable and volatile husband. _Her protection and well-being are what matter now_, he thought, muttering to himself as if he were trying to persuade his own mind of this "truth."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"How are you feeling, young songbird?" came the rich, musical voice that she had come to love. It covered her like a warm blanket, and she stretched sleepily, all the way down to her toes, before opening her eyes. When Amêlie peered out through drowsy slits, Erik stood over her, his familiar white mask contrasting strikingly with his blue-green eyes.

"Monsieur Erik? You are back from your honeymoon?"

"Yes," he replied softly, his voice caressing her as though she were a precious sculpture. "We returned early, but if I had known that you were ill, I would have come to see my favorite student much sooner." He smiled, and she couldn't help but return the gesture.

Her parched lips cracked and began to bleed from the simple spreading motion of her smile, and Erik frowned with concern. "Here," he said, leaning over her. "I want you to drink this. It will taste horrible, but you must trust me. It will make you well." He placed a strong hand behind her head, lifting her so that she could take in the pungent substance.

She coughed and nearly retched. "That's awful!" she cried, her face twisting into an expression of disgust. She shook her head and gooseflesh raised on her arms. "Truly horrid!"

Erik laughed. "I know. But this should help you to keep liquids in your stomach. I can see that you are already quite dehydrated. We'll wait about twenty minutes and then I'll get you something to drink, alright?" He touched the back of his hand to her forehead lovingly, checking for any trace of fever. Smiling with satisfaction, he brushed her loose, dark hair out of her face. "No fever. That's a good thing."

Amêlie was surprised at his tenderness with her. She knew him to be kind, but never had he shown such great concern and care for her. She wished that it would never end. Suddenly, she felt nervous, disturbed a bit by the flutter in her belly. _He is my teacher_, she thought. _And my friend. Nothing more. But Lord, I pray that one day You will see fit to send me a husband as giving and kind as this man._ She smiled up at Erik, a dark yet friendly shadow against the white walls and ceiling. "Where is Madame Christine?"

Erik sat down in the chair at her bedside. "She's downstairs visiting with your parents. You have to get well soon, you know. We need to continue our lessons." He put on his most serious authoritative expression. "I'll not have you forgetting what little I have already taught you, Mademoiselle."

Amêlie giggled. "Of course not, Monsieur Erik. I had been practicing, before I became ill. But I don't want to talk about _me_ any more...please, tell me about your trip!"

Erik shook his head. "Surely you aren't trying to change the subject on me, are you?" he winked. "Well, in any case, our trip was shorter than we planned, but wonderful. It is beautiful there in Perros-Guirec, by the sea."

"You had to cut your trip short?" she asked, curious.

"Yes...you were likely unaware, but my employer, Monsieur Giroux, passed away. He was an acquaintance of your father's, as well. We came back as soon as we heard, and apparently, in his will, he made me part owner of his firm."

"Oh! I am sorry to hear of his death, but...what a blessing you have received! The Lord certainly has looked most favorably upon you of late, hasn't He?" She smiled knowingly, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Mademoiselle, you one of the most spirited young ladies that I have ever known." He leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. Instinctively, her hand flew up to her face and she blushed furiously. Erik noticed it with some surprise, but immediately felt guilty...as if he had somehow tainted her pure heart. "I'm sorry, young songbird, I...I didn't mean to embarrass you. Let me go and get you that water. I'll only be a moment."

She called after him softly as he strode from the room...and her whisper would have been imperceptible to normal ears...but to Erik's, every word was clear. "I'm not embarrassed...I feel privileged."

Tears sprang to his eyes as he turned toward the hallway leading downstairs. He blinked them back, hoping that no one would see his emotional state. _Thank You, Lord, for that beautiful child. She makes me want to be a better person. No,_ he thought, _she makes me feel like I already **am** a better person. _For the first time, Erik began to see that he might make a decent father one day, after all. _If I can care so much for this child, then how strong a bond might I have with my own child...mine and Christine's?_

Erik returned shortly to Amêlie's bedroom, carrying a small glass of water. "Careful now," he instructed her. "Sip it slowly."

She complied, and over the course of another ten minutes, she had finished the glass, and had no urge to discard the liquid from her stomach. "Now," he said, "I'll tell your parents that you are to drink one glass this size every hour until noon tomorrow...and then, you may have some _broth_." He said this, smiling when he emphasized the word, and it struck her as amusing.

"Monsieur Erik, you act as though _broth_ were the most luscious food in all the world," she said, grinning broadly.

"Well, I suppose if one has not had any food in quite some time, it _would_ be rather luscious, now wouldn't it?" he cocked one eyebrow at her teasingly.

She laughed. "I believe that I would much prefer the chicken itself instead of the broth."

"No. You mustn't eat meat right now...your stomach couldn't handle something of that sort. Please be a good girl and do as you're told." He patted her head, laughing to himself when he saw the displeased expression on her face.

"I am not a _girl_, Monsieur. I am a young woman, with a mind of her own."

"That you are, Mademoiselle. My apologies," he bowed.

"Now you're just teasing me." She paused for a moment then, studying him. "Thank you," she said quietly.

He sighed and reached down to hold her hand gently. "You are my friend. This is how friends should care for one another."

Amêlie smiled sweetly at him and let out a yawn. "Yes. You are right. But thank you, nonetheless," she said sleepily, and her eyes began to droop.

Erik bent forward and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. He began to sing softly to her, a gypsy children's song that he had learned long before. Soon, her breathing grew deep and even, and he prayed for her healing before gliding soundlessly from the room, easing the door closed behind him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine and Erik said their goodbyes to the Laurents after both parents had been given Erik's specific instructions for Amêlie's care. Monsieur Gregoire and Madame Suzette felt as though they were speaking to a licensed physician. After the couple made their way back to the guest house, the Laurents exchanged thoughts on the matter.

"He certainly seems to be knowledgeable in many matters, but _medicine_?" Monsieur Laurent remarked. "I never would have dreamed it!"

Suzette laughed. "Well, now, he has surprised us with his musical ability, his architectural knowledge, and other things as well...why should he not also know some things about medicine? He is rather a genius, to my mind."

"Truly...I've never met anyone else like him in all my years," her husband replied, shaking his head. "He has a bit of danger about him as well...though I must say that he is much more friendly now that we've gotten to know him a bit better."

"Yes, he has changed much since we first met him. I'm not sure what the reason is, but Amêlie knows...I can see it in her eyes when she is around him. She's a very good judge of character. And speaking of Amêlie..." Suzette paused, motioning with her head toward the large staircase, "...shouldn't we check on her now and see how she fares?"

Monsieur Gregoire nodded. "I hope that you can remember all of Erik's instructions...because I do believe that in my shock, I've forgotten them!" He laughed and put an arm around his wife as they made their way upstairs.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine was snuggled against Erik on the settee when a sudden knock at the door startled them both.

"Who in the world could _that_ be?" he said in annoyance, begrudging the fact that he had to move from the warmth of his wife's body. He strode to the front door, pulling it open swiftly, and was surprised to see the daroga standing there alone, hand poised ready to knock a second time.

"Hello, Erik," he said with some awkwardness. "I apologize for disturbing you so unexpectedly. I heard that you were back in town. I am sorry to hear about the death of your employer."

Erik stepped back from the door, motioning for him to enter. "Thank you, Daroga...and you are welcome here anytime. Please, come in. Is everything alright?" he asked, with some concern.

"Oh, yes, everything is fine. I just...well, I thought that I might bring you some things that I had gathered."

Erik looked at the Persian quizzically as the man removed his bowler and moved back to the front door. "I have them right outside." Stepping out, he reached to his right and produced a large bundle, which he heaved inside with a modicum of difficulty.

"What's all this?" Erik asked him, frowning.

"This," he replied, "is what I managed to gather from your former home." He glanced uneasily at Christine, whom he noticed was watching him intently. "Madame, good to see you again. How are you?" he said, bowing.

She smiled. "I am well. And you, Daroga?"

"Fine, fine." He returned her smile, his olive skin creasing at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Erik cleared his throat, and the Persian turned his attention back to him. "I...wasn't sure if you'd want them, or how you would feel about taking possession of them again, but..." He reached down and unfurled the large bundle.

Erik's eyes brightened when he saw many of his familiar possessions inside the curtain fabric. Much of his sheet music was there, in good condition, along with several other items that held sentimental value. "_Thank you_, Daroga," he said sincerely, glancing up at him and near tears. "I thought that I might never see these things again."

The Persian looked away in embarrassment, answering softly. "It was no trouble. You're welcome."

Christine rose from the settee and came to stand over the bundle. "Oh, Erik! So many of your books are here! Now you can read me your familiar stories like you used to, when we were...when I was..." She laughed nervously. "Well, when we spent time together as teacher and student."

Erik nodded at her, unable to find words for what he was feeling. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her close to him, sensing the Persian's eyes on them as he did so. After a few moments of pregnant silence, Christine spoke up. "Daroga, sit down, and I'll make you some of that horrid tea of yours," she grinned, glancing up at Erik. "That is, if you're in no hurry."

The Persian smiled. "I believe I just may have time for one cup of _horrid_ tea, thank you, Madame." He sat down in the armchair by the window and Erik returned to his place on the settee. "So...was there a large funeral for your former employer?"

_Apparently, any form of silence is torture to this man_, Erik mused. "I don't know. We were unable to attend. There were..._certain people_ who were likely to be there, and we wanted to avoid uncomfortable situations." He looked over his shoulder at Christine, who was standing at the stove in the kitchen area. She appeared to be busy with the task of tea-making, so Erik leaned in to whisper to the daroga. "The Viscomte de Chagny, I'm afraid."

A frown lined the Persian's forehead. "I see. He is causing trouble for you?"

"No...not yet. But surely, it is unavoidable. I have been made part owner in Giroux's firm, and I am the one in charge of the Populaire account. When he finds out..."

"He will hold your very life in his hands."

"Yes."

The Persian leaned forward, keeping his voice low. "You don't honestly believe that he would dare to harm you...not when he knows that doing so would leave Christine alone in the world. Do you?"

"She would be alone in the world with only him to turn to. She cannot survive on meager seamstress wages for a lifetime."

"No. She would be _alone_. She would never turn to him if he did such a thing, and he knows this. He is surely no fool, Erik."

"Pray that he isn't, for all our sakes."

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**A/N**: I'm so glad that you're all happy for Erik and Christine. They do deserve a bit of happiness every now and then, don't you think? But of course, this isn't just a fluffy, romantic story (though I do love those). It's supposed to be "dramatic." So, eventually, I hope to surprise you a little. You're all so sharp, that it's going to be difficult to do! Thanks so much for the reviews, again. I appreciate you **all**. Drop me a review, please! It only takes a second, you _lurkers_, you! -grin-


	56. Chapter 56

**Chapter Fifty-Six**

Erik walked the Persian to the door after a little more than an hour of tea and conversation. "Goodbye, Daroga. Thank you again for bringing these items back to their rightful owner," he said with a slight smile.

The Persian shrugged. "It was no great effort. You would have done the same for me."

"_Would_ I?" Erik cocked a dark eyebrow at him, his eyes twinkling.

"Yes," the daroga said firmly. "I do believe you would have." He lowered his voice again, checking over Erik's shoulder, mentally noting that Christine appeared to be cleaning up in the kitchen. "If there are problems of any sort, Erik, I am here to help in any way I can."

"Thank you," he said darkly. "I hope that there will not be a need."

The men nodded to each other as the Persian left, and Erik closed the door, locking it behind him. "Well. I believe that I have neglected my beautiful new instrument for quite long enough," he said cheerily, trying to ward off his increasingly black mood.

Christine looked up from the sink. "Oh, would you play me something, mon ange? I miss hearing you play, you know."

Erik smiled and walked to the bedroom to retrieve his violin. He returned, clicking the large buckles open and lifting the instrument reverently from the velvet-lined case. Placing it on his collarbone, he checked the bow and the strings until satisfied, and began to play a tune that he had written years before. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Christine had come to rest on the settee, listening intently. She let her eyelids fall closed, and swayed as the melody transported her to another time and place. She sensed a sadness in the music, along with a recurring lilting melody line that seemed to dance in spite of the sadness. She could almost imagine that it performed pirouettes around and around in her mind. All too soon, the tune ended and her eyes popped open.

"Erik, that was breathtaking. What is it?"

"It is something that I wrote several years ago...not long after you first came to the Opera. It's entitled, 'Christine.'" He smiled at her shocked response.

"A song named after _me_?" she asked incredulously. "Oh, _Erik_! But why did you never play this for me before?"

He shrugged. "It never felt like the right time. Now, however, I believe that you are the embodiment of this song."

She stared at him, curious. "What do you mean?"

"You are both a mixture of pain and joy, mon amour. Before, your pain seemed to overshadow so much of you...but now, I sense that your joy has begun to drown out your pain in many ways...like the melody of the song seems to overpower the counter melody. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she said, truly moved. She stood from the settee and moved toward him as he set the violin back in its case. "I love it, Erik." She laid a gentle hand on his chest. "And I love you." She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and his strong arm came around her back, supporting her.

Erik gazed at her tenderly as the kiss was broken. "You are my music, Christine. I am so thankful for you, mon amour." He kissed her again, with more emotion, lifting her off of her feet. After a moment, he stopped and pulled back, his burning gaze coming to rest upon her face. "Let me show you how much." Her pulse raced with anticipation as he turned and gracefully carried her down the hall to their bedroom.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Morning came quickly, and the Durand and Laurent families (sans Amêlie) found themselves at Mass once again. Erik wore his flesh-colored mask and was fully cloaked as he and Christine made their way up to the organ loft. Erik found, to his delight, that he could safely play for the service without arousing much suspicion. Rumor had it that he was a strange monk who had taken up residence in one of the vacant rooms upstairs at the church. No one seemed to think it odd that a young woman accompanied him to the loft every week, and Erik suspected that it was because they had heard her sing in the service before...and naturally, she would be on hand to sing again, if necessary. Christine sat down in the corner and sang along with the congregation while he played. Just before the end of the service, he stood and they both made their way downstairs, Erik leading her quietly behind the curtain into the kitchen alcove.

Christine had a questioning look in her eye, and he smiled. "I haven't spoken to Father Michel since our wedding, mon ange..." he trailed off, as a look of understanding crossed her countenance.

"You've missed him, haven't you?"

"Well...I suppose I have...but mainly, I've just missed being able to practice my old tricks on him," he laughed.

She slapped his arm lightly. "Oh, Erik, I know that's not true...not _completely_, anyhow." Smiling, she stepped closer to him. "He's been like a father to you, and you _know_ it."

Erik tensed his jaw and tried to look fierce. "Stop it. I don't want to get emotional now."

Christine grinned at him, and his resolve crumbled. "Alright...that's enough," he said, his lips curving at the corners.

The heavy curtain was pushed back suddenly, revealing the beaming face of Father Michel. "Erik?" The old priest studied his new mask for a moment before coming to his senses. He strode into the alcove quickly, catching Erik in an embrace. "I'm so pleased to see you! Thank you for blessing our congregation this morning with music. And Madame Christine, how are you?" he asked, patting her on the arm.

"I'm well, thank you, Father," she replied, throwing her arms up and hugging his chubby neck. "Erik and I have missed you."

Father Michel turned a lovely shade of crimson. "Well, I must say that I have missed you both as well. I heard that you had gone on a trip. How did everything go?"

Erik spoke up. "We went to Perros-Guirec, where Christine spent summers as a child. We enjoyed ourselves very much, but we had to cut our trip short due to the death of my employer."

"Ah, yes, I had heard about that. I'm sorry, Erik. What does this mean for you and your position there?"

Erik felt a small amount of pride, but spoke humbly. "Well, apparently the Lord has seen fit to bless us...I have inherited part ownership of the firm."

Father Michel nearly jumped for joy as he gave a loud clap with his hands. "Praise the Lord! That is wonderful, wonderful news, Erik! For both of you!" He turned to Christine. "Does this mean, Madame, that you will not be returning to work at the seamstress shop?"

Christine's eyes registered surprise. "I...I hadn't thought about it, actually," she stammered, feeling quite foolish that she had not even considered the option. She looked up into Erik's warm, loving gaze. "I suppose that is something we should speak about soon, yes?"

"Yes," he nodded seriously. "I will, however, leave the choice up to you, mon ange. You secured that job on your own, and I will certainly not stop you if you choose to continue."

She reached out to hold his hand, squeezing gently. "Somehow, I knew you'd say that."

Father Michel couldn't help but smile when he witnessed the couple in front of him so happy and clearly in love. "Well," he began, clearing his throat, "do you have plans for your afternoon meal? If not, I have plenty here to share."

"Actually, we _do _have plans," Erik responded, glancing at Christine.

"Oh." Father Michel couldn't hide his disappointment. "Perhaps another time, then?"

Erik chuckled. "Father, we would like for you to come to _our_ house for a meal. Right now, of course."

Pleasantly surprised, the old priest grinned from ear to ear. "I'll just get my coat."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Wonderful meal. Thank you both," Father Michel said, patting his very full stomach. "I believe I enjoyed it a bit _too_ much," he laughed. "So, Erik, you mentioned something about a house that's being built?"

"Ah...yes, our new home should be complete in six to seven weeks. I'm hoping that you will come and visit us often."

"Really?" The old priest raised his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling. "I thought you'd be quite weary of me by now."

"Not hardly. You are very..._entertaining_, Father." Erik fought to keep a straight face.

"_Entertaining?_ What is _that_ supposed to mean? I think I should take that as an insult, my boy!" Father Michel shot him an annoyed look.

"Oh, _no_, Father. If I **truly** insult you, I'll be the first to let you know."

The old priest stared at him for a moment before he burst out laughing. "You really had me believing you for a moment there. I was fully prepared to give you a scathing lecture on 'respecting your elders,'" he laughed good-naturedly.

Christine was truly amazed at the way the two men interacted with each other. Father Michel's patience and clear, undisguised love for Erik nearly made her weep with joy. _ He has always deserved to have a father's love. Thank You, Lord._

As they saw him to the front door, Erik handed Father Michel a handwritten message. "What's this?"

"It's something that I need to have delivered to the managers at the Populaire."

Father Michel's eyes went wide. "The Populaire?"

"Don't worry, Father," Erik chuckled. "I had Christine write it in her own hand for me. Can't go risking my neck just when things are starting to go so well, now _can_ I?"

The priest exhaled, relaxing. "Well, that certainly gives me some peace. Is this regarding some business with your firm?"

"Yes. Informing them of the new ownership. Of course, they won't recognize my name...I didn't think to sign it 'O.G.'" The hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

"Very wise of you...very wise," Father Michel nodded, smiling. "Well, I'll have a messenger deliver this, then, if that's alright with you."

"Of course. I appreciate it very much," Erik said sincerely. "And we'll have to invite you for dinner more often. I hate to admit it, but...I miss your incessant, off-key humming at all hours."

Father Michel chuckled, pulling him into a fatherly embrace. "And I miss your regular critiquing of it, my boy. I'll see you soon," he remarked, waving goodbye to them both as he walked to the main house for a carriage ride back to the church.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Arriving home after church, Raoul was greeted by the sickening sight of his brother's carriage in front of his estate. He sighed deeply and resigned himself to be civil and respectful, though what he really wished to do could not be considered at all gentlemanly.

Philippe stepped out just as Raoul was making his way to the front door of his home. "Raoul," he nodded.

"Philippe. How are you this fine day?"

"I am well. But let us dispense with the pleasantries, shall we? Have you withdrawn from your commitment to the Populaire project as I asked?"

Raoul grimaced. "Is this the _only reason_ for your visit? To come and lecture me again...to treat me as though I were a child? Forgive me for saying so, but you used to visit me because we were _brothers_...not because you wished to treat me as if I were a 'loyal subject' to _His Majesty, le Comte_."

"Perhaps I wouldn't treat you thus if you were being objective and sensible," Philippe shot back, smirking derisively. "Your name has been associated with Mademoiselle Daae as an object of much gossip and disgrace, and now you refuse to let the past go and move on. You are dragging our family name through the mud! Have you no sense of pride?" He was fuming, his voice becoming increasingly strained. "Tell me **right this moment**...what are your reasons for wishing to see the Opera rebuilt at this time?"

Raoul shifted his weight and motioned toward the door. "Would care to step inside?"

Philippe exhaled sharply through his mouth and tromped determinedly past his younger brother into the large, vaulted foyer. He stopped and waited, rather impatiently, as Raoul closed the door behind them. "Well?"

Taking a deep breath, Raoul intended to give the responses that he had long rehearsed for such an occasion. _"Philippe, the Opera is a worthy venture that our parents enjoy when they are back in Paris for visits,"_ and "_Philippe, don't you know that the performers will have a difficult time finding work elsewhere in Paris?" _Instead, he opened and closed his mouth like a fish before squeaking out the words, "I don't know."

"You _don't know_?" Philippe hissed in reply.

Raoul closed his eyes, thinking. _Why am I really doing this? Because I want to hold on to something that was such a large part of Christine? Am I hoping that she will return eventually to the Opera...where I could again hear her voice and see her smile? Is it so that I can remove the stain of the entire debacle from my reputation, replacing it with the remembrance of a good deed done to support the arts? _

Philippe tapped his foot harshly on the marble floor. "There **is** a reason, I'm sure, and you aren't being honest with me." He noticed Raoul's lack of proper posture as well as the look of hopelessness in his blue eyes. He softened a bit and approached him slowly, laying a hand upon his shoulder. "Raoul, I am your brother. I have cared for you and looked after your best interests for so many years now...it is a very hard habit to break, though you are now a grown man. I'm sorry to lash out at you in my anger...I--"

"It's alright, Philippe," Raoul smiled sadly, feeling defeated and spent. "The truth is...if I hadn't pursued him—the...the Phantom--frankly, the Opera would likely still be standing. I should have skirted Christine away in the night, or the wee hours of the morning, rather than attempting to destroy him. It was my _pride_...my pride refused to simply _walk away _with the woman I loved. No, I had to destroy my rival as well. Its destruction, is in part, my fault."

"Raoul," Philippe said gently but firmly, "I admire your sense of duty, but I know you, and I believe that there is more to it than that. You may as well tell me now so that there are no more secrets between us."

Raoul sighed wearily and hung his head. "I...I'm still hurting. I still love her. And there is a part of me that wants to hold on to the only part of her that I can."

"Brother, you must let her go. She has chosen her own path. Perhaps it's what is meant to be...for _both_ of you."

"I understand. But what's the harm, after all, in helping the managers to rebuild? You know that they will have a difficult time finding anyone else to help fund this project, with the stigma that still hangs over the ruins." He shook his head sadly. "Let me think on this, please."

Philippe frowned. "Alright. I will give you some time to think it over. But you already know my opinion on this subject. Don't allow your nostalgia to cloud your judgment, Brother. Try to be objective."

"I'll try." Raoul opened the door for Philippe, who strode outside and into his waiting carriage without another word. As he watched his brother's departure, he felt a wave of longing in his heart. _How can I be objective when it comes to the woman I love?  
_

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**A/N: **Hmmm...how indeed! What do you all think? Do you think Raoul will bail or will he tough it out? Tune in next time...I mean, bite your nails until the next chapter is posted! LOL Thanks to those of you who reviewed! It's nice to hear your comments and guesses as to where this story is going. I just hope I can keep you on your toes and that I'm never overly predictable. Love and blessings to all of you!


	57. Chapter 57

**Chapter Fifty-Seven**

Raoul was seated in his study, trying desperately to occupy his thoughts with something other than Christine. Large flakes of snow drifted down from the morning sky, covering the ground with a wet, pristine blanket. A knock at his door startled him, but he recovered quickly enough to return it with a strong voice. "Come in."

Francois bowed as he entered. "Monsieur le Viscomte, this was just delivered by messenger," he said, striding quickly to Raoul's large, perfectly polished desk.

Raoul tore it open and read, his face rigid with shock:

_Dear Monsieur le Viscomte:_

_We have been informed today by Giroux & Associates that the project for the reconstruction is still underway. All designs and planning will now be handled by one of the co-owners, M. Erik Durand. We trust that this news will be as pleasing to you as it is to us. We hope to see you again soon so that we can discuss the choice of materials and the costs involved. _

_Sincerely,_

_M. Richard Firmin_

_M. Gilles André_

Raoul tried to read the short note over again, but his hand was trembling so violently that he could not focus on the words. He closed his eyes as if to will it all away, that it would become nothing more than a fleeting nightmare. Of course, it was no use. When he opened his eyes once more, the words seemed to leap from the page, mocking him cruelly. _Monsieur Erik Durand._

"**What ****_is_ this**?" he cried aloud, his eyes turning upward to the ornate ceiling. He had the urge to weep in anguish for a split second before he was overcome with blind rage. The note ended up in ragged pieces on the desk and floor, with his chair overturned and his desk completely cleared of all breakable objects. Shards of glass littered the floor in front of the desk, but he did not seem to notice, crushing them into a powder with the soles of his shoes as he paced back and forth across them.

Francois heard the commotion and nearly bolted through the study door. "Viscomte? Are you injured?" He took a step back, stunned at the sight before him. "What...what _happened_, if I may ask?"

Raoul shook his head. "It's over. It's all over. My life...is over. There is nothing left," he spoke in monotone, fighting to brace his weight against the desk with one shaky arm. It was as if he wasn't fully aware of where he was or whom he was addressing.

"Viscomte?" Francois studied him for a moment before taking action. "I'll summon the physician." He left the door standing open as he went to fetch a servant to take care of the matter.

Raoul made no objections. He made no sound at all, standing stiffly, staring out at the increasing snowfall. _What on this earth is left for me now?_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What on this earth is _left_ for me now?" the young woman cried, flinging herself upon the canopied bed in her grief.

"Shhh, Angelique, it's alright. You must pull yourself together!"

"But I **can't! **How could he do this to me...just after he told me he _loved_ me, no less? Oh, Justine, I thought he _meant_ it!" She sobbed into her pillow, her curly blonde locks spread in an erratic pattern across the silk.

"Sometimes we don't know people as well as we think we do, I suppose," her older sister answered drearily. "I'm so sorry that he's broken your heart." She laid a gentle hand on her sister's back, rubbing gently between her shoulder blades. "I know it's of very little comfort to you at this moment, but soon you'll realize that it was better you found out now rather than after his engagement ring was on your finger."

Angelique sniffed and raised her head from the pillow, her eyelids encircled with swollen redness. "Well, now that ring encircles someone _else's_ finger. But you're right...I know it's better this way. I would never want a man who was in love with someone else." She sat up halfway and lifted her chin. "When I marry, it will be for _love_, not for convenience or for the sake of a family name. I just want a gentleman who will love me for who I _am_...not for Father's money or because of my social status. I **hate** the sickening game that we must play, simply because we are of the 'upper crust!' Ohhhh!" She balled her fists in frustration. "How I _hate_ that term! We are no different from anyone else..._if you prick us, do we not bleed_?"

Justine inwardly scolded herself for wanting to laugh. "Waxing poetic again? At a time like this?"

"I can't help it," Angelique replied, frowning. "At times like this, only the Bard is sufficient to express oneself."

"_Really?_" Justine rolled her eyes and looked away from her sister, twisting a tiny braid into a lock of her molasses-brown hair. "You need to get out more."

"I prefer to stay in. My books are better company than people, anyway. They're not so fickle and shallow. They have depth, meaning..."

"Oh, _dear_ sister, don't you even **think** about staying away from the anniversary party for the Robichauds! Father won't hear of it!"

Angelique bit her lip sullenly. "I'd rather not talk about it. I despise those parties. They make me ill. And no one ever asks me to dance, anyway."

"Shush!" Justine cupped her sister's rosy cheeks in her graceful hands. "Perhaps this time will be different. Besides, I want you to meet Maurice. He is going to be there," she smiled with a slight blush.

Now it was Angelique's turn to roll her eyes. "Oh, _yes_, Maurice Pineau, the _handsomest_ gentleman there ever _was_!"

"Don't make fun of me! He's sweet, and he treats me well. I think that he's beginning to have serious feelings for me."

Angelique sighed and decided that it wasn't worth her time to quibble. "Well, that's wonderful, then. If you promise not to nag me any more, I'll go. Alright?"

"Good!" Justine smiled gleefully. "I'll go and tell Father!" She turned like the graceful swan that she was and left the room.

Angelique sat down abruptly on the bed, sulking. _My whole life...changed in a matter of moments. _Holding her head in her hands, she began to wonder if God had ever really heard her prayers for a loving husband, after all._ Am I destined to be alone? Am I not fit to be someone's wife and the mother of his children? Let me know, Lord, please...so that I won't raise my hopes again if it is not to be. _ She flopped backwards onto the bed and rolled over to face the wall, falling asleep from grief and exhaustion within minutes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I _said_ I'll be **fine**!" he shouted angrily, startling his personal physician.

Francois frowned. "Viscomte, please allow him to examine you...he's come all this way."

Raoul sat down on his bed. "Fine. But be _quick_ about it, would you? I have other things to do today."

"Such as?" Doctor Perrault raised an eyebrow in question, checking Raoul's heart sounds with his stethoscope.

"Such as...**I don't know**!" he retorted angrily again.

The doctor pulled away. "Perhaps it's best that you lie down for a bit."

"What's wrong with him, Doctor?" Francois asked with some trepidation.

"Absolutely nothing, Francois. Monsieur le Viscomte is in very good health. But apparently, something has upset him a great deal." Doctor Perrault turned his attention back to Raoul and looked him directly in the eyes. "I have known you since you were a child, Viscomte. And yet I have never seen you in such a state. Care to speak about it?"

Raoul nearly answered, before glancing uncomfortably at Francois. His servant took the unspoken hint and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

"It's my former fianceé. She has married a man that I despise, and now I find that our lives continue to intersect, making _my_ life nearly _impossible_ to live!"

"Surely you're being overly dramatic, Viscomte," Doctor Perrault answered, cringing a bit at Raoul's fierce glare. "I...I mean no disrespect, mind you...but perhaps, just perhaps...you are _hoping_ that your lives intersect?"

"Preposterous," Raoul mumbled.

"Is it?" The doctor sat down next to Raoul on the bed. "Letting go of someone you love is the most difficult thing that you will ever have to do...well, that and forgiving someone who has wronged you. It seems...that you shall have to tackle both."

Raoul shot him a sideways glance. "Since when did _you_ become so wise?"

Doctor Perrault laughed. "Oh, my dear young Viscomte, I am an old man, married for...well, more years than I can keep track of! I should _hope_ that some amount of wisdom has come out of the time I've had on this earth." He stood up suddenly. "I, as your physician, recommend a treatment that has been known to work many times over."

"And what would that be?"

"Let it go. Go out and be among friends...you surely have many of those. Forget that which is past, and begin to move forward. I'm a firm believer that God opens doors for us when others close." He laid a large, wrinkled hand on Raoul's shoulder. "And Raoul?"

Raoul looked up at him suddenly, surprised to hear the old man address him by his Christian name. "Yes?"

"Revenge will only serve to kill you slowly, my friend. Forgive. It's the only way."

"I'm not so sure I can do that."

"If you don't, you will come to regret it, and you could rob yourself of a good life. Your former fianceé has made her choice and moved on. You should do the same."

"You sound like my brother," Raoul quipped.

The doctor cocked his head. "I'm not so sure if I should take that as a compliment...or an insult," he grinned.

Raoul laughed...sincerely, for the first time in many days. "Thank you, Doctor."

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**A/N: ** Well, _someone_ needs to talk some sense into Raoul, yes? Thanks to my reviewers...it seems that some of you want Raoul to move on, yet rebuild the Opera...and some of you want Raoul and Erik to have a "showdown" at the OK Corral! LOL! We shall see what Raoul decides...stay tuned! I hope you all are enjoying the story. If you haven't left me a review (the 90 or so other readers here) please do so! I look forward to hearing from you! BTW, I know this chapter was short. Don't worry...the next one will be longer.


	58. Chapter 58

**Chapter Fifty-Eight**

Erik and Christine stood outside the Laurent house, having been invited to an early supper, waiting patiently for Guillaume to answer the door. After a long pause, they heard the sound of a lock being turned, and the door creaked open slowly, revealing a rosy-cheeked, much healthier Amêlie.

"Good evening, Monsieur Erik...Madame Christine!" the lovely young brunette greeted them from her homemade wheelchair, grinning from ear to ear.

Erik laughed, the musical sound filling both young women's senses. "Young songbird! You're up and about! And you look like you were hardly ill at all!" He smiled, reaching out both of his hands to take her small ones gently.

"That horrid stuff you gave me apparently worked wonders!" Amêlie giggled. "I didn't get sick after that...not once! And I was able to eat some broth this afternoon. It was _heavenly_," she said, closing her eyes in mock rapture.

"I'm glad that I could help," Erik grinned.

Christine placed a hand on his back. "That's my husband...always full of surprises," she chuckled amusedly.

Erik turned his head to cock an eyebrow at her. "Now, now, Madame Durand...watch yourself."

Christine grinned devilishly at him before turning her attention to Amêlie. "I'm so glad you're feeling better, Mademoiselle. It is good to see you again."

"Thank you," Amêlie smiled. "Won't you both please come in?"

They approached the dining room, following behind Amêlie's wheelchair at a short distance. As they neared the doors, Monsieur Gregoire stepped from the dining room, smiling in greeting. "Well, here comes our new physician!" he quipped.

Erik greeted him with a handshake. "Are you saying I missed my calling, Monsieur?"

"On the contrary...I am saying that you seem to have many callings, Erik." Monsieur Gregoire raised his chin a little and looked him in the eyes. "By the way, let's dispense with the formalities, shall we? We have known each other for long enough. Please call me Gregoire."

"Very well...Gregoire it is," Erik replied, unable to disguise the shock in his eyes. He suddenly felt a wave of gratefulness sweeping over his soul as he recalled how the man before him had, from the very beginning of their relationship, treated him no differently than any other man. He paused briefly before adding, "Thank you."

Monsieur Gregoire smiled at him, turning as Madame Suzette made her way down the large staircase. "Ah, there you are, ma cherie. I was beginning to wonder about you."

"Hello, there," she said, regarding everyone cheerily. "How is everyone this evening? Christine, you look lovely, as always."

"Thank you, Madame. If I may, I'd like to return the compliment. That frock is lovely. Is it new?"

"This? Oh, heavens, no. I refuse to buy new frocks unless I absolutely need to. I simply despise fittings. Such a _bore_, don't you think?" she laughed. "Well, shall we?" she motioned to the dining room.

After the meal had been consumed and everyone was satisfied, Madame Suzette cleverly made an excuse for the ladies to retire to the parlor, giving Monsieur Gregoire an opportunity to speak to Erik about a few matters.

Closing the study door behind him, Monsieur Gregoire turned and strode to the other end of the room, lifting a decanter full of amber-colored liquid. "Brandy?"

"No, thank you. I don't think I'd have room for anything after such a large meal."

Monsieur Gregoire nodded. "Very well. Mind if I do?"

Erik shook his head. "So...now that you have me cornered, it appears that there is something on your mind. Am I correct?" He gave him a wry smile.

"You are most observant, Erik," he said, taking a sip of his brandy. "I suppose that I should just come out with it, then." He shifted his weight uneasily. "There is a reason why you avoid the Viscomte de Chagny...and I don't believe it is solely because of Christine. You have met him, haven't you? There is more to the story...more to _your_ story."

Erik sighed deeply and turned his face away, staring at the wall. "Perhaps it is _you_ who is the observant one among us."

Monsieur Gregoire set his glass on the desk and approached Erik. "Sit down, please," he said, motioning to one of two armchairs nearby. Erik complied, casually crossing his legs as he did so. "Now," Monsieur Laurent continued, "would you care to fill me in on things...or am I to be left to my own imagination?"

"Your imagination could never compare with the actual truth, I'm afraid," Erik replied darkly. "If you knew the truth, you would not want me in your house...nor on your property."

"What makes you say that?"

Erik leaned forward, placing his elbows on the arms of the chair. "I know how men are, Monsieur. They do not easily forgive. And neither do I...though I am trying."

"Erik, I have asked you to call me by my Christian name. And please know that I do not think of you as anything more than a man who likely had a troubled past...one that is now making his own life extraordinary."

Erik hesitated before speaking, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "My life is only _extraordinary_, as you say, because God has made it so...and I would prefer that you continue to see me only as you do now. I am not the man that I was before, and I will never go back to what I was...Lord willing."

Monsieur Laurent smiled at him sympathetically. "We all have ghosts in our past, Erik...myself included."

This made Erik laugh, though not at all lightheartedly. "Oh, Mon—uh, Gregoire...you have no idea what 'ghost' lies in my past. You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said, narrowing his eyes in challenge.

"Wouldn't I?"

Erik stood and walked across the room to the large picture window overlooking the garden. He kept his back to Monsieur Gregoire and released a long, pensive sigh. _I cannot tell this man the truth, can I? Surely he would never allow us to remain here...nor would he ever wish me to be in his daughter's presence again. Lord, why have you allowed me to be placed in such a predicament?_ He shook his head. _I cannot go on running and hiding from the people who claim to care for me. Oh, Father, please help him to understand. _He pushed his shoulders back and stood to his full height, refusing to allow the shame to put any more burdens upon him. This was all forgiven by God...and that is what mattered. He took a deep breath. "When I was very young, my mother abandoned me," he began slowly, still unable to meet Monsieur Gregoire's gaze.

"Yes? Go on."

Another long sigh. "She sold me to gypsies, and they mistreated me, because of my...deformity. They used my face as a sideshow attraction, among other things. Eventually, I escaped with the help of a young girl, not much older than myself, who hid me in the deep cellars of the Opera."

"The Populaire?"

"Yes. I grew and became more curious about the world...I wanted to know everything there was to know. So, eventually, I left to see the things that I had only learned of in books. I acquired many..._skills_...along the way, some helpful and some harmful. _Most_ of them harmful, actually. After many years abroad, I made my way back to Paris and took up residence in my old home. I found that I could make quite a living through means of extortion--" He turned and faced Monsieur Gregoire with a regretful countenance. "Not my proudest moment, I assure you. But because of my skills as a magician...among other things...I was able to convince the managers there that they had a ghost in the Opera. They feared me, and paid me whatever I demanded, and they also did what I asked of them, no matter how strange it seemed. Rumors spread when one or two of the ballet rats saw me in a dark hallway...or whenever they saw a shadow which they _thought_ was me...and eventually, they took to calling me 'le Fantôme de l'Opera.' And that is how it all began." He was slightly startled when Monsieur Gregoire laughed suddenly, in disbelief.

"You? The _Phantom of the Opera_? Surely not!"

"I said that you wouldn't believe me, and it appears that I was correct."

Monsieur Gregoire ceased his laughter, noticing the serious and wounded expression on Erik's face. "I...I'm sorry, I suppose I just have difficulty picturing you terrorizing children and extorting money. After all, you've done just the opposite since you came here. You've befriended my daughter, and you've even offered to pay rent, _which I still refuse to take_, by the way," he said, cutting Erik off before he could object again. "It just doesn't seem to be in your character to do such things."

Erik lowered his eyes to the floor. "I have done many things far worse than that." He glanced up and saw Monsieur Gregoire's quizzical, yet fearful, look. "Oh yes, you can probably imagine." He took a deep breath. "Try and think of the most gruesome things that human beings are capable of...and then you will come close to the truth." His voice grew quiet then, almost timid, as he stepped to the large desk and placed his hands on the edge, as if to brace himself for something. "Do you wish me to leave now?"

The silence was palpable. A creaking sound...then a rustling of material. _He's gotten up to leave the room,_ Erik thought. _He can't bear to stay here in this room with someone who has done such things._ He jumped as he felt a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. He looked up and spun around. Monsieur Gregoire stood before him, his face reflecting the compassion that Erik had so rarely seen in his life. "You haven't finished your story, Erik."

_Dumbfounded. _ When would he ever cease to be amazed by such kindness? Likely never. Erik nearly cried with relief as thoughts of how close he actually had come to losing everything--his new life with Christine--suddenly hit him like a freight train. His limbs were shaking, and Monsieur Gregoire guided him back to his armchair. "Sit. I believe that you had said something about being the Phantom of the Opera before I so rudely interrupted you. I apologize. Please...continue."

Erik closed his eyes. "Yes. Well, I...had been living that life for a few years, not really caring whether I lived or died, when one day I heard a voice...singing. It was the most angelic female voice that I'd ever heard, and I knew that I had to see the face of this angel who had called to me in the bowels of the Opera house. She was...a very _sad _creature, and very lonely. She had lost her father, you see, and had come to train as a chorus girl not long after. I...I heard many of the things that she said aloud—prayers spoken to a God whom I believed did not exist. Or if He did, He was nothing but a perverse magistrate who enjoyed watching people wallow in pain. Regardless, I heard her speak of an "angel of music" and I seized upon the opportunity--being the kind of man that I was--and I trained her voice to become an instrument which surpassed all others in its purity and clarity."

Erik paused, wondering if he should continue. Monsieur Gregoire nodded in encouragement, and Erik felt as if a heaviness was lifting from him. He hadn't spoken of his past to anyone but Father Michel...and at last, confessing the truth to this man felt..._freeing_.

"I...I fell...in love with her, much to my dismay," he went on. "She had never seen me, and she was a naïve girl who truly believed that I was an angel from above. She begged me to show myself to her...and I continued to refuse until one night. I went to her at last, wooing her with my voice as I always had, and she came to me. I don't know what she must have thought...but she had to realize then that I was nothing more than a man. I'm sure I frightened her...I frightened _myself_. But...she stayed with me for a while, until...until she removed my mask...out of sheer curiosity, I suppose. I exploded in rage...and after, I sent her back--away from me. From that day on, I believe she feared me, but not only for my face." Erik smirked. "The Viscomte had come back into her life not long before I revealed myself to her, and he acted as though he were _entitled_ to her...though they had not seen each other or spoken since they were children. It angered me that he held a part of her heart that I believed I could not touch, and I was murderously envious. When I discovered their engagement, I suppose you could say I declared a sort of "war." I believed that I had to fight the Viscomte for her love. I had poured _so much_ of myself into her...I couldn't just let her go. And yet, somewhere, deep inside myself, I knew that letting her go was the _only_ right thing to do."

Erik shook his head. "My darkness would have blotted out her light. Eventually, things came to a head, and I threatened the Viscomte's life. She did what she felt she had to do to save him...but then it seemed that she realized something as well that night...that she also had feelings for me...feelings that went far beyond our teacher and student relationship. But I sent her away with him, though I could see in her eyes that she would have chosen at that moment to stay with me. I believed that it was best for her, and what she truly wanted most." He paused, his lower lip trembling. "I...I thank _God_ that I was wrong."

Monsieur Gregoire waited for several seconds to make certain that Erik was finished speaking. He leaned in, and Erik looked up to see tears threatening to spill from the man's eyes. _This is one reaction I never expected! _Erik marveled.

"Erik...I don't know what to say. Thank you for trusting me enough to share the truth with me. I want you to know that I will never divulge this information to any living soul. It will go with me to my grave. And you, my friend," he smiled, "are an _amazing_ man of strength."

Erik could feel his mouth drop open slightly. He could barely speak, except to rasp out a feeble "thank you," before resting his forehead in his hands.

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**A/N:** And the truth comes out! Confession truly is good for the soul, yes? **Thank you** to my reviewers once again! I think there must be several of you around here who are new and aren't leaving me any reviews, because my stat numbers have gone up considerably. Okay, here it is: REVIEWS equal ENCOURAGEMENT FOR THE AUTHOR. (lol, and no, I'm not yelling at you!) Every little bit helps! I love to hear what you think, even if it's just a brief comment, you newbies and lurkers! And to those of you who thought I'd kill off poor Amêlie..._shame on you_! I'd never do that! -smiles-


	59. Chapter 59

_A/N: Well, may I just start this chapter off by saying "WOW!" You all left me a record number of reviews (13 to be exact) for the last chapter! You have no idea how much I appreciate that. And here, I thought it was just a "regular ol' chapter." (lol) I was actually quite taken aback by the positive reactions, so I thank you. _

**Chapter Fifty-Nine**

"You should wear the blue one, Angelique. Blue really is your color."

"Oh, _why_ did I ever agree to do this? This is ridiculous. I am going to be _miserable_ there tomorrow night!"

Justine laughed. "Well, just keep telling yourself that, and I'm sure you will be. Now come on, try it on!"

"I don't want to."

"Do it anyway."

Angelique sighed in exasperation. "Fine." She managed to get the frock on with little trouble and turned to face her sister, smirking. "Well?"

"It's _perfect_!" Justine cried, hugging her younger sister, who was too stunned to respond in kind.

"Why are you so excited about this?"

"Because, like I told you...Maurice is going to be there, and all of the "nobility"...don't you just love to see them come all dressed up and perhaps get the chance to speak with them, if you're fortunate?" She looked off dreamily at some unknown point on the flowered wallpaper.

"Actually, no, I **don't** love it. But I will tolerate it. For Father."

"At least try to _smile_ when you're there. Scowling won't win you any dances."

"Who said that I wished to dance?"

Justine shook her head. "You really are _hopeless_, you know?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sunlight trickled in between the gaps in the drawn shades, and he rolled over to avoid it. An insistent tickle on his bare chest, however, mercilessly roused him from his slumber despite his efforts to scratch the itch. After several moments, the tickle still hadn't ceased. Erik squirmed, but then he felt warm breath on his neck, and he smelled something...lavender and roses. _Christine._ He pried one eye open slightly, still pretending to be asleep. She moved closer and placed herself within the circle of his arms, which he allowed to hang limp.

_He's awake...I know he is_, she grinned devilishly. She began to lightly kiss his neck, and he could hold back no longer, releasing a low chuckle in his throat. He tightened his hold on her and brought her against his chest. She giggled.

"Good morning, _ma belle femme_." He kissed her forehead, closing his eyes again and reveling in her sweet fragrance and the softness of her skin against his own. _Will I ever become used to this?_

"Good morning. I knew that you were pretending," she smiled, leaning up to look into his eyes.

"_Did_ you, now?"

"Mmmhmm. I always know when you're pretending."

"How?"

"By the way you breathe."

He lazily cocked an eyebrow. "Something I shall have to work on, I suppose."

"Come on. Let's have breakfast. I'm famished!" She pecked him on the lips and slid off of her side of the bed._  
_

Groaning, he stretched languidly, knowing that his wife's eyes were drinking him in the entire time. "Do we _really_ have to get up now?" Suddenly, Christine's stomach growled as if on cue. He laughed in surprise. "Apparently so! Breakfast it is, then."

After preparing a light meal of fruit, tea, and croissants, they sat at the kitchen table together...not across from each other, but adjacent...taking every opportunity to hold hands and give each other light caresses each time they reached for their food. Soon they found that they were feeding each other small pieces of fruit, not even speaking...sharing a wordless bond. It was enough, it seemed, and their eyes clearly reflected the pure oneness that they felt.

Christine was the first to break the sweet silence. "Erik?"

"Hmmm?" he answered, caressing the hollow where her neck met her shoulder.

"I have been meaning to ask you something...and you don't have to tell me if you don't wish to, but..."

His expression grew serious. "What is it, mon amour?"

"Oh, it's just...on our...on our first night together...our wedding night..." she said with a blush, "you said some things to me that were..."

"What?"

"Well, they were so passionate and poetic. I'd never heard them before. Did you write them?"

He relaxed, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. "No."

"You didn't?"

"I didn't." He popped a small piece of croissant in his mouth.

She paused, as if waiting for an explanation, while he sat there, chewing. Frustrated, she crossed her arms and leveled a glare at him. "Well?"

He swallowed and grinned. "Well, what?"

"Well, where did you get them from?"

"You _really_ need to know?"

She stood abruptly. "Never mind. Forget I asked." She turned away from him, crossing to the kitchen and pouring herself another cup of tea.

"You're _angry_?" he asked, his eyes reflecting genuine surprise. "There's no need for that." He got up from the table and strode quickly to the bookshelf, pulling down the Bible that he read from daily. "Sit down, Christine...please."

Reluctantly, she plunked herself down on the chair next to him and gave him a questioning look. "What are you doing?"

"What you asked me to do. Showing you where it came from."

He flipped the pages until he found the Song of Solomon, pointing with his finger to a passage and pushing the Bible nearer to her. "Here."

"You're joking."

"I'm not," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "Read it yourself."

She scanned the page for a few seconds before her face reddened and her mouth began to curve into a smile. She let out a single laugh, which quickly turned into a fit of giggles. "Oh...oh ho ho my **goodness**, Erik!"

He gave her a wry smile. "Satisfied?"

"Very," she replied, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his mouth. "It was...quite effective."

"Yes, _I_ certainly thought so," he grinned.

She straightened in her chair. "Well. Now that the mystery is solved, I was also wondering about something else--"

"Oh, Christine, mon ange, why so many questions this morning?" Erik asked wearily.

"Well, because you were very quiet last night after our dinner with the Laurents. Monsieur Gregoire acted as if he had an urgent matter to discuss with you. You said nothing to me about it, and you seemed a little...withdrawn."

"Did I?"

She nodded at him, and he sighed. "I'm sorry."

There was another long pause. "Are you _really_ going to make me drag it out of you again, my _elusive_ husband? You can't hide from me anymore, _Opera Ghost_," she quipped, regretting her words almost immediately as she saw the expression of sadness on his face. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, Erik, I didn't mean any--"

"He knows."

"What?"

"Gregoire knows. He knew somehow that there was more history between you and I and the boy. He asked me what it was, and I...I told him."

Christine put her face in her hands, near tears. "No...oh, no...he'll tell _Raoul_, Erik! He'll...he'll find us, and you'll be **arrested**! Oh, Erik, **why**? Why did you do this?"

He could hear the fear in her voice and quickly moved to wrap his arms around her small frame. "Christine, it's alright. We're safe. He will not tell the boy."

"But the Laurents have been friends with the Chagnys for _years_, Erik! Raoul told me so himself!"

Erik rested his chin on her shoulder, speaking reassuringly into her ear. "Apparently, quantity of time has little to do with the quality of friendship."

"What do you mean?" she asked him, raising her head up to lean against his cheek.

"He swore to me that he would take the information with him to his _grave_, Christine. And he didn't ask us to leave. In fact, he said that I was a man of strength."

She turned around slowly then, taking his unmasked face in her hands. "Oh, Erik." She kissed him soundly, a tear trailing down her cheek. "He's right. You are that and _so_ much more."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"It's been a while...you'd better let me go in alone."

"Of course."

Erik slowly approached the gate and smiled as the black mare, Baptême du Feu, whinnied and trotted over to nuzzle his upraised hand. "Looks like she hasn't forgotten me."

Christine smiled. "Well, you _are_ rather unforgettable...at least, _I _always thought so."

Erik winked at her. "We don't have much time if we're going to ride. It will be time for supper soon. Did the Laurents invite us to the house again?"

"Yes, but..."

"But what?"

"I thought that perhaps we could...go in town to see Meg?"

"**What?** I can't just go _walking_ about downtown Paris, Christine! The church is the only place that I feel safe enough to--"

"I know," she said softly. But they would be glad to see us, and...and their flat is fairly private. Please?" She looked up at him, doe-eyed, and his resolve crumbled, as it typically did in her presence.

He sighed. "Alright, we'll go. I know how much it means to you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Feeling invigorated after a short ride, Erik and Christine took a carriage to downtown Paris. On the way, Erik decided that it would be best if they stop by the Girys' flat and take them to the church, where he felt more secure. Christine reluctantly agreed, wondering if the constant hiding would ever end. She was hopeful, but also had to be realistic. Her husband was a wanted man, and he wore a mask...he would surely be recognized wherever they went in Paris. She prayed that beyond Paris, the "Phantom" would be viewed as more of a superstition than a reality.

Meg threw her arms around Christine upon answering the door to their upstairs flat. "Oh! You've come back! How was your trip?" She blushed suddenly, pulling back, wondering if she had perhaps asked an inappropriate question. "I...I mean, did you have fun? I--I mean..." She bit her lip, and Christine laughed, her eyes sparkling.

"Yes, it was fun...and the scenery was as beautiful as ever. I'm so glad we went, even if it was cut short. Erik's employer passed away, and--"

"What's that?" Madame Giry asked sharply, entering the room mid-conversation. "Erik's employer passed away? That's terrible!"

"Yes, Madame," Christine nodded. "But Erik has inherited a third of his company...it was in the will."

Both of the Girys stood staring at the young woman before them, not quite believing what they had just heard. "How can that _be_?" Madame Giry asked, wide-eyed. "Erik has only worked there for a short time, hasn't he?"

"Yes, but apparently his employer thought so highly of him that he added him into his will. It was quite a shock...especially for Erik."

"I can _imagine_...he isn't accustomed to receiving _any_ sort of approval."

Christine smiled. "Well...he is trying to overcome that. Speaking of Erik, he's downstairs waiting in the carriage. We wondered if you'd care to have a visit with us...but it—it would have to be at the church, because Erik doesn't feel--"

"Doesn't feel safe in the city. Correct?" Madame Giry raised an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Of course he wouldn't. Meg, get your cloak and for heaven's sake, put on some sensible shoes! You can't wear ballet slippers everywhere...it isn't good for you." She fetched her own heavy shawl and put a scarf around her head for warmth. "Ready?" she said, glancing at Meg, who clearly was not.

"You go ahead, _Maman_. I'll be down in a moment."

Madame Giry sighed and followed Christine out the door and down to the waiting carriage. As they approached, the small black door was pushed open slowly from the inside and a hand was extended to assist Madame Giry.

"Erik."

"Monique."

"How are you?"

He smiled. "Surely, you already know the answer to that."

She gazed at him for a moment before her lips curved into a smile of their own. "You're happy. It is a rare sight," she said, seating herself opposite him.

"Not so rare anymore, Monique. Thanks to my lovely wife," he added, reaching out to help Christine inside as well. "Where is little Giry?"

Madame Giry smiled at the term of endearment that Erik used toward her daughter. "Meg is upstairs putting on her cloak and shoes. She should be down in a moment."

As if on cue, Meg rushed out of the building doors, flitting toward the carriage like a blond butterfly. Her cloak was hastily thrown over her shoulders, and she gripped it with one hand to keep it on. "Sorry!" she whispered, as she came to the carriage door. Upon seeing Erik, she froze for a moment, her look of embarrassment fading into one of hesitation...as though she were recalling memories in the not-so-distant past.

"Hello, little Giry," Erik greeted her with a low, soft tone, as if reading her thoughts. He offered her his hand and she took it, smiling sheepishly.

"Thank you." Upon seeing Christine, she grinned again and seated herself next to her mother across from the newlyweds. "Where are we going? I've forgotten."

Her mother smiled knowingly and patted her knee. "The church, ma cherie. Remember?"

"Oh. Yes, of course." She shyly glanced down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap.

There was an uncomfortable silence as the carriage rumbled toward the church, and Erik tried not to make it worse, avoiding eye contact with the women present. He pretended to look out the window, all the while watching his wife's reflection as she smiled in anticipation...no doubt, at being alone and gossiping with Meg about their honeymoon. He only hoped that she would show tactful restraint... The very thought made him squirm. _Our private life should __**remain** our private life_, he thought to himself. _But I have heard how women gossip at the Opera house...they can be __**entirely** too detailed. _He turned his head to face his wife, and she leaned into him, smiling.

At last, they arrived at the church, entering through the side door, as was Erik's custom. Father Michel heard them, and poked his head out of his study doorway, eyebrows raised in question. "Oh! Hello there!" he said, recognizing them at once and stepping into the main sanctuary. "Madame Giry, Meg, how have you been since the wedding?"

"Just fine, thank you, Father," Madame Giry answered politely.

"Well," Erik interrupted, "I suppose we should let you three ladies have your visit now. Father Michel, do you mind if I join you in the study?"

"No, not at all."

The old priest shot him a curious glance as he entered the study and sat down in an armchair. "Erik, is there some particular reason why you've come here today?"

He looked surprised. "Oh. Are we bothering you?"

"Goodness, no! I was just wondering..."

"I know. I apologize for just barging in here. Christine was desperate for a visit with her foster mother and sister, but I felt this was the only safe place to do so. Is that alright?"

Father Michel smiled. "Of course, Erik." Then he chuckled. "You know, about four months ago I'm certain you would never have seen a church as a 'safe place.'"

Erik shook his head. "No, quite right. I wouldn't have. But now...I see why you call your place of worship a 'sanctuary.' I feel _safe_...it's as if I can feel God's presence here."

Father Michel nodded in understanding. "And you don't usually feel safe?"

"Never. I'm always wondering who will try to arrest me or accost me...or who will send me once again into a murderous rage..." He shook his head. "And I don't want to be that man anymore. But, if anyone were to threaten my wife or those that I love, I know that I would not hesitate to protect their lives by taking that of another."

"Erik, you are not the man you were before. Murder should never be taken lightly...and you should do whatever you can to protect your family, with killing being a last resort. Do you understand what I'm saying, my boy?"

"Of course I do. But I have made myself some more...weapons...at home. And I've begun to carry one with me again...I just seem to have this idea that our lives could be endangered by anyone at any time."

"_Anyone_, Erik? Even me?"

Erik chuckled. "No, not you, Father. Your heart is as transparent as a pane of glass...there is no deceit in you. It's other men that I worry about."

"My boy, you cannot live in fear. Fear is not from God...you must live in faith, knowing that it is He who looks after you. And He has even promised that His glory will be your "rear guard" in times of trouble. So even if you have no knowledge of someone trying to do you harm from where you least expect it, He will be protecting you. Does that make sense?"

Erik nodded, pursing his lips. "Well, enough about me...how have you been, Father? Is anything new happening in your life?"

He smiled. "Oh, I've been fine. Nothing too out of the ordinary going on around here...but I have been prayerfully considering some things."

"Such as?" Erik leaned in, genuinely curious.

"Oh, nothing that should concern anyone at the present time. When I hear of a definite direction from the Lord, I will let you know. Until then, I don't want any outside influences to sway my heart. Not even _you_, my dear boy." He spoke with a kind smile in his eyes, and Erik's heart swelled with love for the old priest.

"Father..."

"Yes?"

"You're not thinking of _leaving_, are you?"

He sighed. "Oh, my son, I have to commit this to much prayer, do you understand? I shouldn't have mentioned it...now I can see that you are uneasy."

Erik's posture was rigid. "I...I just...can't imagine not having you here..."

Father Michel leaned toward Erik, laying a hand upon his shoulder. "I feel the same way. But let's not speak of this any further before I receive clear direction from the Holy Spirit. Agreed?"

The question hung in the air for several seconds. "Agreed," Erik responded at last. He couldn't erase the sudden feeling of sadness that washed over his soul. _What would I ever do without this man? He is the only man who has ever truly loved and accepted me as a father should... Lord, please don't take him from me now. _

"So," Father Michel said cheerfully, startling Erik from his thoughts, "have you eaten supper yet?"

"No."

"Well, then, you may all have supper with me, if you like. I would enjoy the company."

Erik forced himself to smile a little. "Of course. Thank you."

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A/N: I can feel the tension already. -bites nails nervously- Are you all glad that there was no Raoul in this chapter? (Ha!) Thanks for reading. Please leave me your thoughts—REVIEW!


	60. Chapter 60

_A/N: Thank you to my reviewers and readers! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter, Raoul-free. This time, you will not be so lucky. (But it's good, I promise!) I know it took me a while to update. Sorry about that...this chapter is a nice, long one. Read on!_

**Chapter Sixty**

Morning came too quickly for the Viscomte de Chagny. His eyelids were heavy and reluctant to open, and he wished that he could stay in bed all day, avoiding the outside world with its troubles. He knew that he must respond to the managers at the Populaire sometime soon, but what he was going to say to them, he had no idea. A dull headache had begun to build behind his eyes during the night, and the sunlight filtering in through the gaps in the heavy drapes only added to his misery.

With a growl, he threw back the sheets and stood to his feet, tossing a silk robe about his shoulders. _By God, if I'm going to be awake, I'd best be doing something, hadn't I? _Timed perfectly, there was a light rapping upon his bedroom door.

"Who is it?" He blinked, rubbing his eyes vigorously.

"Francois, Viscomte. Are you alright?"

Raoul sighed. "Yes, Francois. Come in, please."

The door opened with a slight wooden creak and Francois stepped inside, impeccably dressed and ready for his workday as usual, squinting into the relative darkness of the bedroom. "Allow me to open the drapes for you, Viscomte?"

Raoul stepped aside. "Of course. And there is something else that I need."

Francois nodded, pulling back the drapes.

Raoul immediately squinted and shielded his eyes. "I wish to take my morning coffee and paper here today...in the privacy of my bedroom. I am not to be disturbed until after I have dressed and come downstairs."

"Yes, Viscomte. Right away." He gave a polite smile and exited soundlessly. Raoul found himself suddenly aware of how excellent Francois had always been at his job. _Is he happy here? Does this sort of work bring him joy? _ He rubbed his chin. _Surely if a man can find joy in being a servant...I can find some sort of joy in __**my** position. How selfish I have been!_ He frowned, plumping himself down on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees.

Suddenly, he remembered that he was expected at an event that evening. He groaned. "I am not at _all_ in the mood for socializing." He put his face in his hands and rubbed his forehead lightly for a few moments, trying to ease the tension from his brow before covering his face with his hands. "I _have_ to get over her," he said, his anguished voice muffled in his palms.

"Viscomte?"

Raoul jerked his head up. _That was awfully fast._ "Come in."

The butler untucked the folded newspaper from under his arm and handed it to his employer. "Your paper. And I'll set your coffee here on the nightstand."

"Thank you." Raoul paused as Francois turned and started out of the room. "Francois?"

He halted and turned. "Yes?"

"I am expected at the Robichauds' tonight...I sent my reply some time ago. I would appreciate it if my carriage was made ready by five o'clock."

"Of course, Viscomte. I will see to it myself."

Raoul nodded and smiled as his butler left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. _Now,_ he thought to himself, _I suppose that an evening with acquaintances would be a welcome diversion for...all of this._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mmmfmm hmmm!"

"How am I supposed to hear you with your face stuffed in that pillow, you silly girl?"

Angelique lifted her head, taking in a quick breath. "I said, 'It's too early for this!'"

Her sister smiled crookedly, both amused and annoyed with the grumpy blond "child" in the bed. "No, it isn't too early. We have many things to do today to prepare. Come on, get up." She pulled the flowered spread back, angering her younger sister.

"Stop it!"

"I _swear_, if you don't get up, I'm going to douse you with cold water!"

"Try it, Justine, and you'll be _wearing_ your breakfast today!"

They both burst into a fit of giggles and Angelique sat up, pushing her unruly ringlets out of her eyes. "Well," she said, clearing her throat, "I suppose that you won't mind wearing your breakfast as long as its color complements your skin tone."

"Oh, pooh!" Justine laughed, swatting her sister on the arm. "Stop being so difficult and put on your robe. It will be time for the party before you know it."

Grumbling to herself, Angelique dragged herself from the warm comfort of her bed and slipped into her pink, floor-length kimono acquired by her father on his last trip to the Orient. She had to admit that she was slightly excited for the anniversary party...but she would, of course, never reveal it to Justine nor her father. Still, the sensible side of her was reluctant to go to another social event, forced to smile like a porcelain doll, alone, while all of the girls her age were asked to dance. She knew that several of the young men had been interested in her at one time, but it seemed that word had traveled about her independent spirit and love of books and science...things that most young men believed were only appropriate for...other young men. _Ah, well, I wouldn't choose them for myself in any case,_ she reminded herself. _God made me this way, and therefore it is __**His **responsibility to find me a proper husband, _she laughed to herself._ I won't settle for anything less. _

She found herself pondering the mental picture of God in His glory, hunting high and low for a respectable young man secure enough in himself to choose a wife like her. Strangely enough, every time she imagined this, she could picture the Almighty shrugging with a baffled expression, coming up empty handed. _If it weren't so painful to think about, perhaps I'd laugh,_ she thought with a grimace.

At the breakfast table, the list of errands seemed endless. "Justine, surely you don't expect me to rush about all day, primping myself like a peacock!"

Justine popped a red grape into her mouth and smiled sweetly, chewing all the while. "If you were a peacock, you wouldn't need primping," she teased. "We must find you some new shoes, of course, and have your hair washed and set, and..."

Angelique's mind began to drift in a fog as her sister prattled on and on. Studying her every expression while pretending to listen, she wondered how her relationship might have been with Justine had their mother lived to raise them properly. When she became ill, it was a terrible shock to the family...and as the cancer spread, their mother depended on Justine to help with household chores and the discipline of her barely younger sister. All in all, Angelique was amazed at the woman her sister had become, and had helped _her_ to become. Justine had only been fourteen when their Mother died, and Angelique was preparing to enter her teen years. Their father had done his best to raise them during those crucial times, but he was no substitute for a mother--and they were too old for nursemaids. By the grace of God, they had become proper young women.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Hmmmm?" Angelique blinked, her glazed pupils once again focusing intently on her sister's face. "I'm sorry, what?"

"_Ohhh!_ You know, you are **infuriating** sometimes!" Justine's face was red with frustration, and she pounded her dainty fist upon the table. "Like it or not, we are going to have a lovely day together, so just _accept it_!"

Angelique giggled. "Well, since you put it _that_ way...how can I refuse?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Viscomte, this message just arrived for you."

Raoul stood and moved from behind his desk. "Thank you, Francois."

The butler hesitated. "It is nearly four o'clock...do you wish to have a bath drawn?"

Raoul nodded. "Please. I hadn't realized it was so late...I'll be up in a few moments...thank you."

As Francois left, he closed the door behind him, and Raoul looked down at the envelope in his hands. _I know what this is_, he thought sullenly. _It's from the managers at the Opera...again._ He sighed, tearing it open quickly with a bit of frustration.

_Dear Monsieur le Viscomte,_

_We were paid a visit today by your brother, Comte Philippe de Chagny. He has informed us that he wishes to see no more of his family money being used toward the reconstruction of the Populaire. We were terribly disappointed to hear of this and wondered if your brother was in fact, speaking on your behalf as well. If so, we regret that we will have to indefinitely postpone the reconstruction and inform those in our employ that they must find work elsewhere. _

_It is urgent that we receive word directly from you on this matter. Please contact us at once. We anxiously await your response, along with perhaps a brief explanation._

_Sincerely,_

_M. Richard Firmin_

_M. Gilles André_

Raoul was fuming. _He didn't even trust me to make my own decision in the matter!_ He pounded his fist against the desk with such force that he thought perhaps he might have made an indentation in the mahogany. _Philippe, my brother, when will you realize that I am a man and not a __**child**?_

"I'll deal with this tomorrow," he said aloud, tossing the note angrily onto the desk. Purposefully, he strode from his study and up the grand staircase to ready himself for what he _hoped_ would be an enjoyable evening with the Robichauds.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Darling, you look stunning!"

Angelique descended the stairs, following her sister. Her cheeks flushed when her father complimented her so, and she felt a small amount of pride. "Thank you, Father...but it was all Justine's doing."

"Nonsense," her sister chimed in, frowning. "I only helped you choose the dress and shoes...the rest just comes naturally to you." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "I just _know_ you're going to have a lovely time tonight, Angelique...I can _feel_ it."

Angelique hated to see her sister cry. "Don't...please," she said, wiping a tear from Justine's cheek. "Don't get emotional now...and I'm really not expecting a lovely evening for myself, but I know that _you_ will have a good time. And besides, the Robichauds have been married for...how many years is it?"

"Forty years," her father spoke up.

"Forty years. That seems like something worth celebrating. I can be happy for _them_ tonight, if not for myself," Angelique said resolutely. "Well, when are we leaving?"

Her father smiled. "In a few minutes, ma cherie. We are apparently to be escorted to this party by Monsieur Maurice Pineau."

Angelique stared at her sister, who turned at least three shades of red. "I--I didn't tell you," Justine stammered. "He just sent word this afternoon, while you were reading in the library."

"Well," Angelique began after a moment of shocked silence, "that was...very kind of him to offer, I suppose. I just hope we aren't late."

Justine lowered her eyes to the floor and crossed the foyer to stand by the door. She began to nervously tap her foot as she stood there, watching for Maurice through the foggy glass. "He'll be on time."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Viscomte! So lovely to see you again! Thank you for coming," Monsieur and Madame Robichaud greeted Raoul as he entered from the foyer into the grand ballroom.

"Happy anniversary," he replied with a bright smile. "May you have many more joyous years together."

They all nodded politely to one another, and Raoul felt his tension ease a bit when he saw several of his friends in a corner of the room chatting. One of them, a dark-haired young man, a year or so younger, spotted him and waved him over.

"Raoul! How have you been, my friend?" the young man smiled, patting him on the back.

"Oh...fine. And you, Jean-Michel?"

"Splendid! Couldn't be better! Say, I thought of you the other day. Read in the Epoque that your engagement had been broken. I'm sorry," he frowned.

"Really?" Raoul's eyes widened in surprise. "It was in the Epoque? Is _nothing_ kept private anymore?"

"Not in the gossip pages, I'm afraid. It _is_ true, then?"

"Yes. I'm afraid so. But...I'm here to enjoy myself," he said, forcing a smile. "She has moved on with her life, and I intend to do the same."

"Good for you," Jean-Michel patted his back again, more emphatically this time. "Have some champagne and dance with a few ladies! You um..._did_ notice that several here in this room are quite attuned to your presence?"

Raoul raised his eyebrows and scanned the room discreetly. Sure enough, he caught glimmers of coy smiles from across the room...the batting of eyelashes...the flitting of fans. It reminded him of a swarm of butterflies--beautiful, but somehow annoying as well. "Hmmm. Unfortunately, I know the reputations of most of these women. And I'm sure that they aren't what I'd be seeking in anything..._long term_."

"Who says you need anything 'long term'?" Jean-Michel grinned deviously. "Having a romance on the rebound can be very..._rewarding_. Don't you think?"

"I've never had a romance on the 'rebound,' as you say, before. And I don't intend to now. The very idea..." He shook his head in disgust. "I am **not** my brother, and I'll thank you to remember that."

Laughter erupted from the group nearby, as they had apparently been listening to the semi-private conversation. Raoul was angry, but he chose to remain the picture of composure. "Well, if you'll excuse me, Jean-Michel..." He paused and turned toward the group of mixed company behind him. "Ladies, gentlemen, so glad I could entertain you this evening," he said with a mocking smile. "Excuse me." He stepped his way across the room again, avoiding the dancing couples in the middle. Finding a server, he decided to drown his misery in champagne and hors d'oevres for the evening. He had just finished his first glass when a strange sensation gripped his chest--a sensation he hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity...

His head swam. _Is it the champagne, or is it...no. No...it can't be. What on earth is wrong with me? _ His senses were suddenly dulled...all except his vision. A sea of shimmering blue and white tulle seemed to drown him as he made a vain effort to drink in the sight of golden curls and rosy cheeks...a smile that lit up the entire room...graceful hands...

He swallowed and found that his mouth had gone completely dry. Time seemed to stand still as he watched this beautiful vision of young womanhood step into the ballroom, and the heads of nearly every young man present seemed to swivel in unison. Raoul caught himself before he laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all. In a rush, his hearing returned to him, and he noticed murmuring from the surrounding groups of guests.

"Very beautiful, yes, but not very domestic..." said the voices. "Never make a good wife the way she thinks...far too independent."

_Are they talking about **her**?_ Raoul wondered in surprise. He wanted to know more...he _had _to know more. He had never felt so utterly consumed by the presence of another woman before...not even Christine. The thought frightened him and excited him at the same time. Suddenly, there he was...just a few feet from her. _When did I walk across this room?_ And just as he took a deep breath, the young woman turned toward him.

_Tongue tied? Me? When have I ever been lacking in words? **Say** something, you fool!_ Raoul made a feeble attempt at a friendly smile. "M-Mademoiselle? Good evening to you."

The young blond woman looked surprised. She blushed immediately, and her dazzling blue eyes darted away from his. "H-hello, Monsieur. Good evening." A lovely brunette girl stood next to her, her arm in that of a tall young man whom he did not know. Raoul saw the brunette give the blond girl a slight shove, and the young woman nearly stumbled into him.

"Justine!" she cried, whirling around, embarrassed. "Stop it," she hissed through her teeth in a low voice.

Raoul grinned, finding his composure at last. "I wonder if I might ask you...for a dance."

The young blond spun around to face him, her eyes wide with shock. "Um...a--a dance? Oh...I—I don't know...I..."

"Forgive me, I haven't even properly introduced myself. My name is Raoul de Chagny..." _Please help me not to frighten her away! _ "Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

She fiddled with one of the ringlets dangling by her left cheek, which Raoul at once found rather endearing. "A-Angelique, Monsieur. Angelique Gaucher."

"Gaucher?" He recognized the name. "Your father wouldn't happen to be Auguste Gaucher, the owner of the carriage company?"

"Yes, he would be," a deep voice spoke from behind Angelique. "And your family, Viscomte, is one of our longtime customers, yes?" The slender, gray-haired man emerged with a smile to shake Raoul's hand.

_Viscomte? Viscomte Raoul de Chagny?_ Angelique's mind couldn't quite process the information. _Oh, no! He's just asked me to dance and I didn't even __**respond** properly!_ She was mortified, and her face reflected her shame.

She wrung her hands nervously and stepped backward, nearly snagging the hem of her sister's gown. "Oh...Justine, I—I'm sorry. I...I have to..."

"So," came the silken voice again to her ears. "About that dance..."

Angelique looked up hesitantly again at Raoul, noticing that her father had gone to speak with some other business associates nearby. "Viscomte..." she began softly, "I—I'm afraid that you might be seen as..._foolish_...if you were to dance with me. You see, I...that is, I—I'm not..."

"Oh...forgive me," Raoul said, surprised. "You are already spoken for?"

"No, it—it's not that, it's just..."

He smiled as if he understood, and spoke to her with a gentleness that she could almost feel on her skin. "Mademoiselle, I have never been one to make my decisions based on the opinions of others. If that makes me foolish, then so be it. I ask you once again, will you dance with me?"

She felt her heart skip a beat. _Here is this handsome man, who cares not for his own reputation at being seen with me. Well, at least...not yet. _ At last, she smiled slightly. "Alright. Yes, I'd be honored. Thank you for asking, Viscomte."

"Please, call me Raoul, Mademoiselle."

She laughed lightly. "Then you shall do the same. My _name_ is _Angelique_...Raoul."

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**A/N:** Okay, don't throw rocks at me. I know, I know, no Erik in this chapter. But it was necessary. I hope that you enjoyed it anyway! Somewhere, deep inside me, I still like Raoul. (Oops, did I just say that out loud? Oh, my...). Review, but be nice, please! lol


	61. Chapter 61

**Chapter Sixty-One**

_Four months later..._

"I'm so _tired_," Christine sighed, putting away the remainder of their clothing in the closet of their new home. "I never thought I could get so worn out just moving in!"

Erik laughed. "Well, it _is_ hard work. I only wish the house would have been completed sooner, when the builders said it would be. That should teach me to be more of a slave-driver, shouldn't it?" he smirked.

"Oh, it isn't all that bad. At least we didn't have to move during the cold winter months. I'm glad for that."

"Hmmm," he replied with a hint of disappointment. "I was actually looking forward to spending our evenings in front of a roaring fire, _mon amour_. Now it seems we will have to wait."

"Ah, but good things come to those who wait, yes?" she grinned.

He crossed the large bedroom and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. "You really _are_ quite the optimist, aren't you?" He leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. "I'm afraid I should go into the office today and to make sure things are running smoothly. If I don't, those partners of mine could very well run the business into the ground with their laziness!"

Christine rolled her eyes. "Not everyone is as zealous as _you_ are, my darling," she chuckled, turning to face him. "They are, after all, older than you...perhaps you should relax on them a bit."

"I can't _afford_ to relax, Christine," he frowned. "Not since the Viscomte withdrew his support from the Populaire. The managers have postponed the reconstruction indefinitely."

"So, that beautiful building is just going to sit there in ruins? I can't believe that no one will come forward to help! And I really am surprised that Raoul would just drop everything like that!"

"I'm not. The managers know my name. I can only assume that the young Viscomte knows it as well...and realizes that Erik Durand and the Opera Ghost are one and the same."

Christine reached up, caressing the white mask, which he had taken to wearing again. "But you _aren't_ the Opera Ghost anymore, mon ange. Erik Durand is not the same man that he was then."

He smiled, kissing her forehead. "I understand what you're saying, but most people will never see me that way."

"I know," she replied softly, bowing her head. "And that is very unfortunate...for _them_."

He sighed, bringing his arms around her back and pressing her closely to him. "_I love you, Christine_," he whispered, tilting her chin upward and pressing a tender kiss to her lips. "But...I'm afraid that I can't stay here any longer. I have to go and check on the projects that we _do _still currently have underway. I should be home by dark."

"You're leaving me here alone with all of this work, hmmm? I think this is just an excuse to get away from your extremely domestic wife!" she teased him.

"You know me better than that. I love having you here rather than toiling away at that seamstress shop all day, working for so little...and truthfully, I love being home _with_ you," he winked at her suggestively, kissing her quickly again on the lips.

"Stop teasing me and go to work, Monsieur Durand," she grinned. "I'll try to have your supper ready when you get home."

He caressed her cheek gently before he tossed his cloak over his shoulders and set out in their newly acquired carriage. He was not looking forward to the ride--though the countryside where they now lived was beautiful in the spring--nor to seeing what awaited him at the firm in Melun. He could only hope that his partners had been able to keep the other clients happy, and perhaps had acquired some new business during the week in his absence.

Luckily, his fears had been unfounded. Though the other men were reeling from the loss of the Populaire account (or rather, its baffling postponement), they had managed to secure two new clients in the few days that Erik had been moving into his home. Erik was pleased, and he told them so. His partners soon retired for the day, and he was so busy poring over the new client information that he lost track of time. It was nearly dark when he left, and well past the dinner hour. _I hope Christine doesn't worry...how foolish of me to keep her waiting. Dinner must be getting cold by now, _he thought. He set out at a brisk pace in his carriage and arrived home fifteen minutes earlier than anticipated.

Opening the door to their home and dreading the worried tone that he was sure to hear in his wife's voice, he was surprised when he stepped into a completely silent house. _Where is she?_ He saw no sign of her in the kitchen, and no dinner had been made. He was slightly curious as to where she might have gone, but more than that, he was uneasy. _Would she have left here without me? Did someone come to visit and take her into town?_ His mind raced as he made his way back to their bedroom, hoping to find her there organizing their belongings. Still, his keen ears heard no movement. He searched the darkening room for any sign of Christine, when he finally caught sight of auburn curls lying across the bed, on top of the spread, head at the opposite end from the pillows. As he crept nearer to her, he notice that she was breathing deeply and steadily. _Asleep!_ He nearly laughed aloud with relief, but refrained, so as not to wake her. _All of this moving has certainly affected her._ He approached her slowly and knelt down at the side of the bed, brushing a few loose curls from her forehead. _Well, it seems that I am to be the chef tonight, after all_, he smiled to himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine woke from her deep sleep to the sound of clanking pots coming from the kitchen. She stretched and yawned. _Why is the room so dark? What time is it? I don't remember falling asleep!_ She tried to get up, but felt almost as if she had been drugged...her body simply did not want to move. "Ohhhh," she groaned, "I hope I'm not coming down with something." Clumsily sliding from the bed, she grasped the large mahogany poster at one corner. Suddenly, wonderful smells drifted to her nostrils. "Mmmm...what is _that_?" She stumbled out into the long hallway to head toward the kitchen when she felt a sudden urge to vomit. _Oh, my!_ She gasped, dashing back to the bedroom and crossing into the master bath, barely making it before her stomach emptied itself of its meager contents. She steadied herself against the sink basin as she rinsed out her mouth and patted it dry with a small towel.

After several deep breaths, she made her way down the hall and into the kitchen. There was her husband, shirtsleeves rolled up, making dinner with his back to her. She had to smile at the sight, but also felt horribly guilty. _I told him I'd have supper ready, and instead I fell asleep!_ She crept up behind him and laid a hand on his back. He turned immediately to face her, as if he had been aware of her presence the entire time.

"Did you have a nice nap?" He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, smiling.

"Apparently, I did! I never intended to fall asleep...I don't know what happened."

"You've just been working too hard, Christine. Besides, I haven't cooked in a while...it's my turn. I thought perhaps we'd have breakfast for supper. Eggs?"

"Mmmm, yes! With cheese, please...I'm so _hungry_! But...I'm afraid I may be coming down with something," she added with a puzzled expression.

He turned toward her, clearly concerned. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, I don't know...I guess it's just because I've been so tired lately, and just now after I woke up, I...I vomited in the lavatory." She blushed a little, feeling very unladylike speaking about such things.

"Hmmm." He stepped close to her, pressing his hand to her forehead. "You don't feel feverish to me. Any cough?"

"No."

"Well, perhaps you should take it easy for a day or two. The house will be put together soon enough...you don't need to rush to get everything done, ma cherie," he frowned slightly, turning back to the task at hand.

"You disapprove of my hard work? Hmph! I will _remember_ that when you complain that there are no works of art on the walls and you can't find your favorite books," she laughed.

He stopped cooking and turned to embrace her. "No, I do _not_ disapprove. You've done a beautiful job in our new home, mon amour. But if you aren't feeling well, then I want you to know that your health is more important than keeping a perfect house. Alright?" He kissed her nose.

"Alright." She wrapped her arms about his waist, laying her head against his chest and smiling to herself. "Perhaps I should collapse in exhaustion _every_ afternoon...if it means that I don't have to cook."

He poked her ribs, and she giggled. "Now, your cooking has improved greatly over the past few months, my sweet wife..." he teased her with a gleam in his eye. "No one's been poisoned yet."

"You're **horrible**!" She laughed, slapping him on the arm. "Oh, I almost forgot—how did things go at the office?"

Erik stepped away slowly and turned his attention back to cooking. "Better than I expected. Two new clients just this week. Perhaps if I keep out of sight, things will continue to go well," he joked.

"Any word on the status of the Populaire?"

"No. But I'd imagine that the managers won't be able to afford to hold on to it for much longer. If I were them, I'd look to sell it."

"_Sell_ it? To whom?"

"Whoever would buy it...to either rebuild it, or have it demolished completely and raze the site for a new structure."

Christine frowned. "Oh, I'd hate to see that beautiful building torn down. I realize that it's in ruins right now, but...there are so many memories I have of that place. It was my home for so long."

"I know." Erik grew quiet for a moment before Christine realized the reason for his sudden silence.

"Oh. Oh, Erik, mon amour..." she cooed, stepping to wrap her arms around his waist from behind. "I'm so sorry...of course, it was _your_ home, too—for far longer than it was mine. It must sadden you to think of it no longer existing."

He sighed. "No, it _doesn't_, actually."

"It doesn't?"

"No. I truly want nothing more to do with that place. In a way, I'm relieved that the project has been halted. I think that somewhere, in the back of my mind, I felt that if I were to continue with it, somehow I would be putting us at risk of being discovered. I believe that's why I felt so fearful for a time, carrying my...weapon...with me again." He paused, lost in thought. "I know that such a project would have brought much attention to the firm. I suppose that in the past, I just wanted my talents to be noticed, but now...I think I would like to use my talents for the Lord, and remain _unnoticed_. What would happen if I were to become well-known in Paris? It wouldn't take long before the authorities learned who I am...or rather, who I _used _to be. And where would that leave _us_?"

"Oh, Erik," she sighed, holding him tighter. "You should be destined for _greatness_...your name should be known the world over! And because of mistakes that we both made, you may never achieve what you were meant to. I'm so _sorry_." A tear slipped down her cheek as she imagined what might have been.

"_Christine_," he whispered, loosening her grip on his waist and turning to cup her face in his hands, "it is not what I achieve in this world for my name's sake that matters anymore. I...I've been praying and seeking God, and I think..." He paused to collect his thoughts. "I believe that I am to live my life for _others_ now...not for myself. I've spent enough time living only for my own selfish plans and desires, don't you think? I don't want to make a name for myself. I just want to make a _difference_, somehow."

"What do you mean? What do you believe that God would have you to do?"

"I really don't know right now. I'm waiting to see where He leads."

She smiled. "I am so proud of you."

"_What?_" he chuckled, a bit embarrassed.

"You see, you don't even _realize_ it, do you? You are _beautiful_, mon amour...your _heart_ is truly, truly beautiful. I'm so proud to be your wife."

His eyes glistened with moisture for a moment before he pecked her on the lips, still shocked into embarrassment by his wife's assessment. He turned back to the stove and picked up the skillet. "Well, let's hope that our supper turns out to be as wonderful as you think _I _am, mon ange. And after that, you'll go straight in for a bath, and then to bed, understand?" He raised his one exposed dark eyebrow, and she shook her head.

"Oh, my husband," she chuckled. "You are truly incorrigible."

He motioned for her to sit down at the small breakfast table in the corner. She did so, and he set a steaming plate before her. "You knew what you were getting into when you married me," he winked. "Eat your eggs."

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A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter. This update has been long in coming...I apologize. Updates may not come as frequently as before, but I promise you I won't make you wait too terribly long, and I WILL finish this story:) Please review!


	62. Chapter 62

**A/N: Hello again, everyone! I am back with a short chapter, but I hope you'll like it. I hope you're not too angry with me for not updating sooner. I seem to go through spurts of writing here lately, so I apologize for the long delay. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! **

**Chapter Sixty-Two**

Another week had passed and Christine's illness hadn't worsened...nor had it gotten better. She was expecting a visit from Meg and Madame Giry in the afternoon, and she dragged herself out of bed and wrapped a robe around her, feeling queasy. She made her way to the kitchen where she found Erik at the table dressed in his trousers and a white shirt, casually open at the neck. He was, as usual, reading his Bible.

"Morning," she said groggily, plopping down in the chair next to him.

He smiled and leaned in to peck her on the lips. "Good morning, mon amour. Coffee?"

She shook her head. "No. Even with cream and sugar I still can't stand the taste of it. But I do love the smell." Her stomach lurched. "Usually, anyway."

Erik frowned. "What's wrong? Feeling sick again?"

"Yes. It seems to come and go. I'm not sure...perhaps I should see a doctor."

"That would be a good idea," he nodded, furrowing his brows in concern. "Perhaps we should risk a trip into town this morning."

"Yes...I think we'd better go. I want to be back here before two o'clock."

"Ah, that's right. Monique and little Giry are to visit, aren't they? I suppose we should be getting dressed then."

"Wait," she said, placing her hand upon his. "You haven't read to me yet...and I've grown accustomed to our time here every morning. Besides, you know how I hate to see doctors...they make me so nervous. _Please_...pray for me?"

He smiled reassuringly and inched his chair closer to hers, placing his arm around her shoulders. "Of course." He kissed her temple before he proceeded to pray and then finish the passage he was reading aloud. "You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You," he read, from the book of Isaiah. "I think we should stop there. It's a good one for us to think on, isn't it?" She nodded, and he smiled. "Let's get ready to go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine was silent for much of the ride into town. She couldn't escape the niggling thought in the back of her mind that something was wrong. Erik noticed her demeanor, and he immediately knew the cause.

"Mon ange, you shouldn't worry. Everything is going to be fine. You'll see."

He spoke with such confidence that she had to smile. She exhaled slowly, in an effort to relax. "You won't leave me alone with the doctor, will you?" she asked him anxiously.

"Of course not! Not unless...you would feel more comfortable."

"No. I want you there."

"Then I'll be there the whole time."

At last, they reached a nondescript building with no flowers, no signs of life at all. It was the type of building that one would easily overlook, due to its blandness. Christine hadn't seen the place before, and she looked at her husband strangely when he stopped the carriage out in front. "Here we are."

"_Where_ are we?"

Erik smiled a little. "Doctor Farzin isn't your typical doctor. He's...well, he's the kind of doctor that I trust to examine my wife. And myself."

Christine stared at him, surprised. "I thought you always treated _yourself_, Erik! _You've_ been to a doctor?"

"Yes. He was a doctor in his home country. The Daroga recommended him to me once when I was very ill from the dampness of the cellars, and he gave me a remedy that cured me."

"Oh. _Goodness,_ I had no idea you were so sick."

"Of course you didn't. I was an _angel_, remember? Angels don't fall ill," he said with a wink.

Erik pulled the hood of his cloak up so that his face was almost completely obscured. He stepped out of the carriage and extended his hand for Christine as she descended. Placing his hand on the small of her back, he guided her up the walkway and into the main door of the old building.

It smelled musty inside, and it stung Christine's nostrils. She made a face, but Erik didn't seem to notice. At last, they came to a door at the end of a long hallway, and he knocked in a strange rhythm. They waited for what seemed like several minutes before they heard shuffling at the door and the click of a lock. The door opened just a crack, and a dark eye peered out. "Who is it?"

"We are here to see Monsieur Farzin. Is he here?"

"Who wants to know?"

Erik sighed and pushed back the hood of his cloak slightly to give the dark eye a better look at him. There was a gasp, then the door closed quickly.

He turned to Christine. "Perhaps he no longer lives here. We should go. Now."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the door was flung open and before them stood a very serious looking, olive-skinned man with silver hair. He was small in stature, and peered up at them over his oval-rimmed glasses. "Erik?"

"Doctor."

"It has been..._years_! What brings you here today?"

"My wife."

"Your..._wife_?"

"May we come in?"

"Oh—of course." The man was clearly astonished, as his eyes darted from Erik to Christine several times before finally settling on Christine's face. "Madame," he said, "you have been ill?"

"Y-yes."

"For how long?"

She frowned. "Oh, I suppose for a couple of weeks now. It just won't go away."

He shrugged and eyed her strangely. "Of _course _it won't."

"What?"

"_What?_" Erik echoed.

The older man studied them very seriously before his lips curved into a slight smile. "I'm afraid you will likely be sick for at least another month...perhaps two."

"Two months?" Christine asked, mouth agape. "What on earth--"

"Doctor, perhaps you should explain. How could you know this? You haven't even examined her!" Erik spat.

Doctor Farzin motioned to the settee, and they seated themselves. He continued. "I _will_ examine her. But first, you must know that a woman in her condition often experiences such things...nausea, vomiting, aversion to certain odors..."

"How--" Christine stuttered, wide-eyed. "How do you _know_ these things? I didn't tell you that I--"

"You don't _have_ to tell me, Madame. I have seen many women with your condition."

"Her _condition_?" Erik pressed. He could feel the perspiration beading on his forehead.

"Of course. She is with child."

For Erik, time seemed to stand still in that moment. Everything around him seemed a blur except for the face of the woman he loved more than life itself. He stared at her, wide-eyed, mouth agape, as he tried to think of a proper response to such..._shocking_ news. Then, the moment seemed to unfold in slow motion. He heard Christine gasp, and a look of surprise came upon her young face, followed swiftly by elation, and then by something he wasn't sure of. _Fear? _And then she met his eyes. The light of joy that was present there nearly caused his breath to escape him, as her hand instinctively flew to her stomach.

"Erik," he vaguely heard her say, as he watched her lips forming the sounds. "A baby." There were tears in her eyes now, and Erik felt himself leaning toward her. Unaware of anything else but her at that instant, he pressed a tender, yet passionate kiss upon her full mouth.

"_Our_ baby," he whispered as he pulled away, his voice quivering. "Oh, dear God, you have been good to us." And he suddenly realized that he was crying, too.

They were startled when Doctor Farzin gently cleared his throat. "Would you like me to examine your wife now, Erik?" He paused. "Erik?"

Erik blinked. "Hmm?" He tore his bleary eyes away from Christine to glance at the doctor. "Oh...yes, of course. Please." _How could I not have known this before?_ he wondered to himself. He had been around a handful of pregnant women during his time with the gypsies, and was once familiar with the signs of pregnancy. _I've been so blind and foolish to think that this might never be_, he realized. _I had always believed that I might pass on this deformity to my children...but now that I know the truth...that isn't even possible, is it?_ He marveled at the fact that his mind hadn't made the proper conclusions until that moment. _I am capable of fathering a child...I **have** fathered a child...with my wife...my Christine._ It was almost too much for him to fathom. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her angelic face. _Through our love, God has created a new life._ His heart was so full that he thought it might burst. As he gazed at his wife, he was suddenly aware that he wanted...no..._needed_ to be near her.

"Please, Doctor...as quickly as you can," he urged, as Christine questioned him with her eyes. He gave her a slight smile and a lift of his visible eyebrow, and she blushed as she fought back her own smile.

_Oh. _"Yes, doctor. We...have someplace else that we need to be...very soon," she echoed Erik's sentiment, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

It seemed like hours before Doctor Farzin had finished. "Alright, from all estimates, and from the information you have given me, it appears that you are eight to nine weeks pregnant, Madame. For morning nausea, please try to eat some crackers or bread to settle your stomach before rising from bed. I'm afraid I can do nothing to stop the odors in the air, however," he chuckled. "It shouldn't last much longer. Only until your fourth or fifth month, I would presume. Any questions?"

They had no idea where to _begin_ with their questions, so they simply shook their heads in unison. "We have to be going now," Erik said abruptly, handing the small man several francs. "For your services."

"And my silence," Doctor Farzin smiled knowingly.

"Naturally," Erik replied casually. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Erik," the doctor added quickly, "please...bring your wife back to see me in one month. Unless...you will be securing another physician to deliver your child at a later time."

Erik hadn't even thought that far ahead. "No, Doctor. I mean...no, _you_ will be our physician. We will return in a month."

Before the carriage door had closed upon them, Erik's arms were about his wife's waist and he was kissing her as if he were starving. "Let's go home," he whispered, his eyes green and passionate. "I love you so _much_, my wife...the mother of our child."

Christine smiled, her eyes brimming with tears. "I love _you..._Angel."

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A/N: Okay, so no huge surprise, right? LOL But I hope that you enjoyed it nonetheless. Please click that little review button and let me know what you think. :)


	63. Chapter 63

**A/N: Alright, so by NOW, you've likely forgotten what the entire point of this story is. LOL! I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated! Please don't hate me, and please do enjoy this chapter! **

**Chapter Sixty-Three**

Monique Giry stood outside on the porch, surrounded by wildflowers, rapping on the door more loudly this time. Turning to Meg, she huffed. "She asked us to be here at two thirty, I'm sure of it. The carriage is here--" She was startled as the door was flung open by a sleepy, disheveled Christine. With a blush, she greeted her guests.

"Oh, hello, I'm...I'm so sorry...we had fallen asleep, and...well, please come in." She smiled, embarrassed that she had kept them waiting outside. Meg embraced her as she walked inside, her blond hair tickling Christine's nose.

"Are you _well_, Christine?"

"Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

"It's just that you've never taken to napping during the day before. You're not ill, are you?" The young blond wrinkled her nose in concern, studying Christine's face. _She doesn't __**look** ill...she looks rather healthy, in fact._

Madame Giry turned to remove her hat and shawl, laying them on the small table in the entryway. "Napping during the day?" she questioned. Glancing up at Christine, she paused to silently gaze at her, straightening as she did so. At once, she knew...she had seen it in a few of the ballet rats before _they_ even knew...Christine was with child. "Ma cherie," she said softly, approaching her with arms outstretched. "You are needing the extra rest with good reason, I suspect."

Christine's eyes widened as she searched her foster mother's eyes, trying to discern her meaning. She was still a bit groggy from sleeping, and the shock of the comment had rendered her momentarily speechless.

Sensing her surprise, Madame Giry wrapped an arm about Christine's shoulders and leaned close to her ear, whispering. "Does Erik know?"

Christine pulled back to look at her. Slowly, her lips curved into a slight smile. "Yes. We found out this morning."

"Found out what?" Meg broke in, stepping toward them.

Christine turned to her and smiled, taking Meg's petite hands in her own. "Meg," she said slowly, "I am..._we_ are...to have a _baby_."

Meg gasped. "A baby? Oh, _Christine_!" She dropped Christine's hands, flinging her long arms instead around her neck. "Oh, I'm so happy for you both!" She hugged her friend so tightly that Christine grunted, causing Meg to withdraw with a giggle.

"Monique?" came Erik's smooth, familiar voice from the end of the short hallway. "How lovely to see you." He quickly surmised the situation and added with an amused expression, "I see the secret is out."

"Oh, mon cher, congratulations," Madame Giry said, smiling and taking in Erik's relaxed form, as he walked nearer to her. His shirt was open at the collar and the usual tension in his neck was no longer apparent. She reached out for his hand, and he grasped hers.

"Thank you," he said, giving her a meek smile, nearly overcome with emotion. The two stood looking at each other, practically reading each other's thoughts. The difficulties...the _impossibilities_ of the things that they had shared in the past...the memories flooded their minds. Erik's childhood had been monstrous, and hers had been rather atypical in itself, since she had found him at such a young age. She had been, in many ways, like a mother _and_ a sister to him. Knowing now that he was to have his own child, with the little girl that she had raised as her own...it was overwhelming and would have been utterly ridiculous to imagine, were it not happening right before her eyes.

Suddenly, Erik lowered his voice and his tone changed, as if he were uttering something profound. He squeezed her hand. "_Thank you_, Monique." He searched her eyes to see if she understood, noticing the unmistakable glint of tears in them.

She nodded her head and squeezed his hand in return. No words seemed necessary between them. The moment for them was a sacred one...one that neither had ever expected to experience.

Christine's tentative voice broke the silence. "Would you...like some tea?"

Madame Giry inhaled deeply and turned her head toward her, smiling. "Tea would be lovely, ma cherie. Thank you."

Erik offered Monique his arm, and the four of them made their way to the kitchen, Meg linking her arm with Christine's as she chattered excitedly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_We would like to extend a hand of welcome to you, should you decide to come and minister here. May the Lord's will be done. We await your response, and wish you peace above all things. _

Father Michel stared at the opened letter in his trembling hands. _Oh, Lord, give me wisdom...I have little experience with this sort of thing. Should I go? Would you have me remain here? What of Erik and Christine? Help me, Father...my heart is uncertain. _He carefully tucked the letter away in the large Bible upon his desk and sat in an armchair by the unlit fireplace. Sensations of joy, excitement, and hesitation all seemed to grow within his belly. _These children need someone there who will care for them...someone to teach them about the love of Christ. Am I that someone? I have sought your will for many months now, Father. What would you have me do?_ He raised his eyes heavenward as if hoping his gaze would pierce the ceiling and enter the very Throne Room. _Let me know Your will._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meg gasped when she picked up the Epoque the next morning and scanned the society pages. Her mother, knowing how her daughter had a flair for the dramatic, barely raised an eyebrow. "Problem, ma cherie?" she asked flatly.

"I don't know...well, no, I mean...I suppose not." She squinted and frowned as she pivoted in her chair to face her mother. "It's the Viscomte."

Madame Giry set down her cup of tea and quickly came to her side, bending over at the waist to scan the page herself. After a moment, she straightened and smoothed out her skirts. "Engaged. Well. Good for him." She returned to her place and took a sip of her tea.

Meg was astonished at her mother's nonchalance. "**Good **for **him**?" She blinked. "What...what is _Christine_ to think of this? He is engaged _already_, and she has been married but _six months_!"

Monique smirked at her daughter. "My darling girl, do you even _realize_ what you just said?" She laughed low in her throat. "Christine married Erik rather quickly, and you are upset that Monsieur le Viscomte has waited all of _six months_ to find someone to be his wife? _Honestly_, Meg..." The older woman shook her head and pushed some loose, graying strands of hair behind her ear. "I'm glad for him."

"Well, since you put it that way," Meg chuckled, "I suppose there _is_ nothing wrong with it, is there? I just..."

"You're wondering how Christine might take the news?"

"Yes, Maman, I am. I know that she loves Erik, but...I wonder if she ever really considered how she might feel to have her childhood sweetheart married off to someone else."

"Hmmm. Well, I should hope that she'd be happy for him, too. After all, he is a good man...he deserves his own happiness, does he not?"

Meg nodded, feeling conflicted. Part of her actually felt a bit upsetwith Raoul for moving on so quickly, and yet she knew it was completely unreasonable for her to feel that way. _I should let it go. I'm sure that Christine would...wouldn't she?_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik rolled his eyes when Christine picked up the newspaper to read it after they had prayed and read a few scriptures together. "_Must_ you read that every morning, mon ange? It's nothing more than meaningless drivel and gossip." He twisted his mouth in disgust, and she pretended not to hear him.

After several minutes, Erik stood and left the kitchen table to look over some plans in his study, when all at once Christine folded the paper and lay it down in front of her abruptly. She drew her hands away from it, staring at the paper with disbelief in her eyes. He furrowed his brow in concern and paused at the doorway. "Christine?"

She looked up at him, glassy-eyed. "Yes?"

He did not answer her immediately, but stood for another moment, poring over every nuance of her face. Her expression was nearly unreadable, save for a hint of pain in her eyes. None but he would ever have noticed it... "What's wrong?"

She folded her hands in her lap and tilted her chin down to study them. "Nothing is wrong...no." She shook her head. "Nothing is wrong," she repeated, as if to convince herself. Erik frowned. _Obviously, her acting abilities have become less than believable of late. _

He sighed in frustration and briskly approached her. Taking her gently by the shoulders, he shook her lightly. "Mon ange, something is _wrong_. Now, I **demand** that you tell me what has gotten into you this morning!" He raised his voice enough for it to send a shudder through her body. She slowly raised her eyes to his.

"It's in the paper today," she said at last, choosing her words as carefully as she could. "He is to be married."

"He? _Who_ is to be married?"

When her only response was to quickly avert her eyes from his once again, Erik knew. "Oh. I see. And this _disturbs_ you?" he said, with more than a little sharpness.

She trembled visibly. "I-I suppose that it doesn't _disturb_ me as much as it..._surprises_ me."

"It _surprises_ you? Why?"

She shrugged, and Erik had flashbacks of her childhood, when he had taught her from behind the mirror. When she didn't want to answer him, she stalled—using that simple motion. He put a finger under her chin and lifted it until her eyes were locked with his.

Christine cringed at the fierceness in his eyes. "I...I don't know."

He repeated his question more firmly, attempting to keep his voice at a normal level. "Why does it surprise you, Christine? _Answer me_. Do not shut me out."

She closed her eyes. _How do I say this without sounding like a complete fool?_ "I...I suppose I just...expected that he wouldn't...that his feelings for me wouldn't...oh, _never mind_, it's just **nonsense**!" she huffed, clearly upset with herself.

Erik relaxed a bit at her rise in emotion, realizing that at last there was a chance for some honest conversation. He sat down in the chair beside her and took both of her hands in his. "Mon amour, your feelings are not nonsense. Please...tell me."

She opened her eyes to look upon his sincere face. "It's just foolishness," she sighed wearily. "And you'll be angry with me."

"No. No, I will not be angry with you for sharing your feelings with me, Christine," he spoke softly, caressing away the uneasiness of her mind with his velvet tone.

She took a moment to compose herself before opening her flawed heart before her husband. "I suppose part of me wished that I could forever hold a piece of his heart. I don't even know why...I love _you_, Erik, and I _want_ only you. But...it's as if I am jealous that someone has taken my place in his heart...so _soon_."

Erik stiffened at the thought of his wife feeling jealousy toward this future Viscomtess. "Is it not enough, Christine, that you are the only woman that I _have_ ever...or _could_ ever love?" The twinge of pain in his voice was matched by the sadness in his eyes. "Am _I _not enough for you?"

At this, the tears that had been building during the course of their conversation began to flow freely. She regretted her honesty with Erik because she had caused him pain...again. _Always pain._ "Erik...forgive me, mon amour. I'm so sorry...I didn't mean it that way. Of _course_ you are enough for me. You are far more than I deserve, far _more_ than I ever dreamed a husband could be. You are the man that I would follow to the ends of the earth if you asked me to. _Please_..." She placed a tender hand on his marred cheek and bent forward to kiss him full on the lips.

Erik fought against the hurt that threatened to make him recoil from her touch, and instead wrapped both of his arms around her small frame, nearly crushing her to him. _I believed that these insecurities were buried months ago_, he thought woefully, as he kissed her with fervency. He needed her...he needed to know that she was still his in every way. Immediately.

"Erik," she gasped, pulling away to catch her breath. "Erik..."

He silenced her with another kiss and swiftly lifted her from the chair into his arms, carrying her down the long hallway. _The plans in the study will have to wait._

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A/N: Thanks so much to everyone for reviewing and reading! I'm still here! It's just taking me longer than I anticipated and I've been distracted by other things! Please review! -hugs-


	64. Chapter 64

**Chapter Sixty-Four**

Sunday arrived swiftly, and Erik again escorted his wife to the church in downtown Paris, eager to see Father Michel again. He felt that it had been ages since they last attended...moving into their house had been exhausting, and they had missed a few Sundays. He was surprised that Father Michel had not come to visit them at their new home, nor sent him any messages. _But then, he is likely waiting for an invitation_, he thought to himself. _Of course. We should invite him to supper this week._

They entered discreetly once again through the side door and made their way quickly to the organ loft, where they reclaimed their usual places. As the service began, Erik saw that Father Michel glanced up at his cloaked figure and smiled. Erik played along as hymns were sung, glancing questioningly at Christine after the first two were completed.

She shook her head in reply to his unspoken question...she did not feel like singing a solo that morning. _Carrying this child is exhausting me_, she realized. _I'm thrilled, but somehow...I don't feel like __**me** anymore!_ She laid her forearm protectively across her stomach and closed her eyes, smiling as Erik played on. She hummed lightly, the melody and words in her mind soothing her anxieties. Slowly, a peace enveloped her, like she had never known before. She opened her eyes a little, curiously, and saw that Erik was still playing, lost in the music. Nothing appeared to be out of place. She closed her eyes again and exhaled, nearly drifting off to sleep. Somewhere in her state of near-unconsciousness, she heard traces of a whisper. She fought to open her eyes, but could not. It was then that the whisper grew louder, and at once, began to form words in her mind.

"_The Lord is with you."_

Again, she tried to regain consciousness, but it was no use. Sleep had taken hold, and yet...she still sensed the whisper...

"_Let not your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful. My grace is sufficient for you. I will never leave you nor forsake you."_

Suddenly, her leg twitched and she was awake again, eyes wide with shock. Erik was looking at her. "Are you alright?" he whispered.

She nodded. "I...I think so." She shifted and sat up straight. "I was dreaming."

He smiled at her and nodded. "Nothing bad, I hope."

"No," she smiled. "No. Just...a dream." _Was it only a dream? How strange..._

Erik seemed satisfied and did not press her further. She was glad, as she had no idea how to explain what she had experienced. It seemed so _real_. The whisper that was both comforting and quiet held within it something else, she perceived...awesomeness and power. Her mind wandered in the way it always had while in church, contemplating life's mysteries, and found itself at the account of Mary from Scripture, when the angel Gabriel came to announce to her the coming of the Messiah through her. _He had come...and had spoken those words to her... "the Lord is with you." She was afraid, as I am afraid. Lord? Was it You? Did __**You** speak to me? What does this mean? _And just as Mary had done, Christine pondered the words in her heart. _Why should a message like this come to __**me**?_ she thought with some uneasiness.

As the service ended, Erik and Christine waited for the parishioners to disassemble and leave the church before they made their way down the steep staircase. Father Michel waited at the door below to greet them.

"I've missed you both very much," he said, his eyes smiling, as he held out his arms to them. He embraced them simultaneously, and kissed their foreheads with fatherly affection. "The Laurents were here, but had to leave...they wished for me to tell you both that you are _long_ overdue for a dinner at their home," he said with a wink.

"I...I suppose we are," Erik stuttered, surprised by the comment. "Father," he continued softly, bowing his head, "we've missed you as well. I trust that you and the church are doing well?"

"Yes, Erik, things are going well here. And for you?"

"Actually, things are...quite _wonderful,_" he replied, his eyes twinkling with merriment. He laughed at the curious expression on the old priest's face. "We are to have a baby."

"Oh, my _goodness_! Congratulations!" he said, with a single clap of his hands. Immediately he embraced Christine and spoke a blessing over her for good health. Erik was moved by the gesture of love.

He stepped forward, laying a long hand upon the priest's arm. "Would you come to dinner this week, Father? We would be honored to have you in our new home."

Father Michel turned his gaze from Erik to Christine. "Are you certain you're up to it?"

She smiled. "Of course! I will need my husband's help in the kitchen, however...I'm afraid that he is having to teach me everything in the art of making a decent meal," she laughed lightly. "Luckily, he is being very patient with me."

"_Patient?_ Well, that _is_ a surprise, I'm sure!"

Erik pointedly ignored the comment. "Well, then, it's settled. You'll come?"

"Of course, my dear boy. When?"

Erik glanced at Christine. "Tuesday?"

She nodded. "Tuesday."

"Very well," Father Michel replied. "I'll see you then...around five o'clock, if that suits you?"

"That will be fine," Christine agreed. "Well, I hate to rush off, but I'm terribly exhausted...Erik?"

Erik gave her a slight smile. "Of course, ma cherie." He turned to Father Michel. "We will look forward to seeing you Tuesday, Father."

As they made their way out the door, Father Michel closed it behind them. _How am I to tell them what I must? And now they are to have a child! Oh, Lord, this makes things even more complicated. And I will miss them dearly. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tuesday evening came quickly, and Christine had struggled all day against the waves of nausea that seemed to bind her to the bed. After making her way at last to the divan in the sitting room, she smelled evidence of Erik's cooking coming from the kitchen. _Chicken. Oh, thank goodness, I think I'm actually hungry!_ She stood up too quickly and the familiar buzz of dizziness filled her skull. She sat down again until it passed. Standing more slowly and deliberately then, she made her way into the kitchen and slid into a chair. Erik was at the stove with his back to her, as she had seen him many times before.

His uncanny hearing had given her away. "Father Michel should be arriving soon, mon ange. How are you feeling?" He glanced back at her over his shoulder with a softness in his blue-green eyes.

"I think I'm better," she said wearily. "I'll be glad to get past this point...I am so tired of being ill."

Erik chuckled. "You're not the _only_ one who's tired of it."

That comment had amused her, and she was glad to feel a small rumble of laughter in her chest. It lightened her heavy spirit, and she smiled. "I'm aware of that." She stood and came up behind him, wrapping her slender arms about his middle. "Thank you for being so patient with me, mon amour, though I wish you would have roused me from my nap so that I could help you with supper." She placed a kiss upon the white fabric of his shirt at his shoulder blade and laid her forehead in the same place.

"Nonsense. You are with child, Christine...your body needs more rest than usual. I know that it will pass eventually."

They vaguely heard a rapping at the front door, and Erik turned his head toward it. "Would you like me to get that?"

"No. I'll go." She released him from her embrace and passed through the kitchen and dining room toward the front entryway. Peering out the side window, she caught a glimpse of Father Michel as he waited on the doorstep.

Smiling, she opened the door to him. "Hello, Father! Come in, please. Welcome to our new home," she said with a great amount of pride in her husband's work.

"Hello! Oh, _my_, this _is_ lovely. Of course, I would expect nothing _less_ from Erik," he winked.

She beamed. "Naturally...and thank you." She turned and glanced at the grandfather clock nearby. "You're a bit early, but supper is almost ready, I believe..."

"Yes, I know...I apologize for arriving ahead of schedule. It's just that...there is something that I wished to discuss with you both." He shifted his weight anxiously, his eyes darting toward a point behind her, then refocusing on her own gaze.

"Oh? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, there's nothing wrong. It's just...well, I'd rather wait to tell you both at once."

"Tell us what?" came Erik's deep voice from the dining room.

Father Michel and Christine turned to look at him. "I'd forgotten how fond you are of sneaking up on people, my boy," the old priest laughed.

"And how keen his hearing is," Christine added with a wry smile.

Erik stepped toward them with a shrug. "Well, now you've recalled it. Shall we talk in the kitchen, then? The food isn't quite ready."

Father Michel nodded, suddenly feeling very nervous. He knew that Erik was a changed man, but..._anger has a way of resurrecting itself_, he thought. In the kitchen, he seated himself at the table next to Christine and smiled at her. Or at least, he _hoped _he was smiling. _Where do I begin?_

"So," Erik broke the silence, "what is it that you wish to discuss with us?" He stood at the stove again, stirring a small pot with a wooden spoon. His face was expressionless, save a cocked eyebrow on his unmasked side.

The priest leaned forward in his chair. "Well, I suppose I should just be out with it...but this is not an easy thing for me to say, I'm afraid." He cleared his throat, glancing from Erik to Christine. She saw his discomfort and covered his hand with her own.

"I told you recently that I was seeking the Lord's guidance on some opportunities that had opened up to me...and I have prayerfully reached a decision." He paused to lock his eyes directly on Erik, who placed his spoon next to the stove and came to sit across from him at the table.

"And?"

"And...I will be leaving in one month...for a small town in the east."

Erik frowned. "East? In the east of France?"

"No," he sighed, shaking his head. "In the east of _Europe..._the old Wallachian region...'Romania,' they now call it. In the southern part of the country there."

Erik's jaw gaped. "R-_Romania?_"

Father Michel nodded as Christine squeezed his hand. "Tell us about it, Father..._please_."

The priest's mouth had gone dry. "M-may I have a glass of water?"

Without a word, his expression grave and confused, Erik stood and fetched the water, setting it a bit too abruptly in front of the priest at the table.

"Thank you." Father Michel took a sip from the glass and noticed that his hand was trembling. He set it down again, gazing at the glinting light on the water rather than meeting Erik's eyes. "There is an orphanage there...in the territory of Giurgiu. The priest there is growing old in years and has become feeble, unable to maintain the building. He needs assistance in the daily operations and in providing spiritual guidance for the children and staff."

"_Go on_," Erik said darkly, his mouth set in a grim line.

Father Michel exhaled slowly, sensing Erik's anger from across the table. "These are children who have been abandoned by their families...poor people who really had little choice. They need care, and they need love, which they deserve as all children do. Their current orphanage has been neglected for some time, and I will be seeking individuals from the towns and villages there who will help to repair it. I may be there for the rest of my life, or I may be there for a handful of years...I don't know. But I believe that this is what God would have me to do."

Erik narrowed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. "There is something you're keeping from me," he demanded. "I want to know what it is."

Father Michel closed his eyes, frustrated at Erik's discernment. He braced himself for the inevitable reaction that was to follow. "They are...that is, many of them..._Rroma_ children, Erik..._Gypsies_."

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**A/N:** Thanks to my reviewers! I'm so glad you're still reading! Questions will be answered in the chapters to come, so hang in there with me! -grins-


	65. Chapter 65

**A/N: Thanks everyone, for the reviews! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter! **

**Chapter Sixty-Five**

Christine awoke in the morning, alone in their large bed. Erik's side had not been slept in. She had heard him during the night, talking and weeping and praying aloud, and at one point, she had been awakened by the sound of breaking glass and pottery. _Oh, no...not my new dishes!_ she had thought mournfully, before she succumbed to a fitful sleep once again.

She lifted herself to a sitting position and reached for the crackers on her bedside table. As she nibbled on a few, she listened for any sounds of life in the house. Nothing. After a short time, her stomach was settled enough to rise from the bed, and she drew her robe around her shoulders as she left the bedroom.

She found her husband sprawled upon the settee, his tall frame resting uncomfortably on the cushions and his arm thrown up over his eyes. He was breathing deeply. _Well, he's finally exhausted himself, I see_, she thought with a smirk. She was still upset with him for his behavior toward Father Michel the night before...

Erik had nearly broken the kitchen table upon hearing the priest's intention to help the children of a people that had done great harm to Erik in his own childhood. He had slammed his clenched fist upon the tabletop so forcefully that it sent a small crack through the wood and quickly turned his fist a deep shade of purple. Father Michel remained calm during this tirade, as Erik paced and shouted and seethed with rage, and he did not utter a word when Erik cooled enough to ask him to leave the house at once...without supper ever being served. _It was almost as if Father Michel __**expected** him to behave in such a manner_, Christine realized. Apologizing profusely, she had seen the old priest to the door while Erik retreated into his study, and she immediately went to bed, knowing that a rational discussion with her husband would not be possible that night.

Now, here he was, asleep, completely peaceful again. She wondered if his rage would be tempered once he awakened, and decided to busy herself by cleaning up the mess that was most certainly strewn across the kitchen floor. After spending several minutes sweeping up the shards of broken dishes, she caught sight of his dark form standing in the doorway. "Good morning," she greeted him, as pleasantly as she could muster.

He said nothing, but skulked across the kitchen to seat himself at the table. She continued to sweep, watching him as he rubbed his eyes and laid his head in his hands. _Lord, change his heart_, she prayed. _Make him see that this is Your will, and that it has nothing to do with him at all!_

"Can I make you some coffee?" She couldn't stay upset with him for long, and she knew it.

He looked up at her blankly. "Hmmm?"

"Coffee?" she repeated.

"No...thank you."

She continued to clean up the mess as he sat there, head in his hands again, unmoving. _He has retreated into himself again. Draw him out...You are the only One who can, _she prayed. She felt utterly helpless, knowing that he was in pain and there was little she could do to help him. She turned aside and gathered up the remaining shards of glass and pottery with her broom. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a movement in his shoulders and abruptly faced him again, disturbed by his posture. The shaking of his shoulders became rhythmic as she watched him in disbelief. She had been witness to Erik's tears of extreme pain only one other time...

The memory sent a fresh shock of regret through her heart. Slowly, she leaned the broom against the wall and approached him, pondering her next action. Standing near enough to touch, she reached out and grasped one of his hands. He did not pull away as she expected, but returned her gesture with a firm hold of his own. She moved closer to him and they remained there until Erik's display of grief subsided. He raised his head to look at her, his eyes bloodshot from weeping and poor sleep.

"I'm sorry, Christine. I shouldn't have...I didn't mean to...oh, _forgive me_!" he groaned, hoping that both his God and his wife would see fit to do so. "I may have lost the only father I ever truly had!" His eyes were still moist with tears as his mouth twisted in anguish.

"Erik...shhh. That's not _true_! Father Michel _loves_ you, and I'm sure he understands. You must go to him and make things right." She placed her other hand upon his disheveled hair. "And I forgive you, mon amour."

He blinked a few tears from his eyes and gazed at her with unabashed gratitude. "I'm so thankful for you. And for...our baby. But I don't want to see him go...I feel as though I still need Father Michel in my life, and I don't want to lose him now. His friendship is...very important to me..."

"I know. And you know that he would never wish to leave you, either...but he must be obedient to the Lord in this. Surely you can understand that."

"Yes." He caressed her cheek. "I do understand." He thought for a moment before adding, "I have been feeling lately that He may ask something new of me as well...I don't know what it is, but..."

"Other than your work at the firm?"

He nodded, releasing a tired sigh. "I'm happy right now in my life, and I would just rather not have it altered considerably," he said with some bitterness. "And I'm afraid that once again, He is seeing fit to change things. I dislike change...when **I'm** not the one _choosing_ the change."

She moved behind him, encircling his broad shoulders with her arms. "Erik, do you believe that He has your best..._our_ best...in mind?"

He shrugged and then felt guilty for it. "I mean..._yes_, I suppose so."

"If He hadn't seen fit to change things, Erik, we wouldn't even be together right now." She kissed the top of his ear. "I know that I will likely never return to singing as I once did, which was not at _all_ my choice, and it saddens me...but I also believe that He has even greater things planned. Like that verse says...about giving us a hope and a future."

He had to smile at her innocence. "I believe that, too." He pressed a kiss to her open palm and shifted his weight in the chair. "I need to get dressed and go into town to see Father Michel...and then unfortunately, I'll need to make the trip to Melun to check in at the firm. Will you be alright here until I get back?"

She laughed, looking at the pile of broken dishes on the floor. "Oh, I'm sure I can find _something_ to do around here while you're gone...along with my daily nap," she smiled.

He stood, kissing her forehead. "I'm sorry about the mess. Let me clean it up...please."

"No," she said, wagging her finger at him. "Broken dishes don't matter, but injured friendships _do_. Now **go**."

"My, my, aren't _we _profound today?" he teased her. "If you insist. I'll be back by nightfall, I promise." He ran a hand through his hair, grinning. "With some new dishes."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik stood at the side entrance to the church, berating himself. _I should never have opened my mouth! I was blinded by my pain...those Rroma children had nothing to do with my childhood, yet I acted as if he were committing a criminal offense!_ He grasped the door handle and pulled. It gave way as it always had, and he breathed a sigh of relief. _Give me the right words._

Erik lowered the cowl of his cloak, revealing his masked and wigged visage in the church, as his keen ears detected the sound of books being stacked. It was coming from Father Michel's study, and he quietly moved around the pews to the other side of the sanctuary.

He stepped to the open study doorway and cleared his throat. Without looking up, Father Michel quipped, "Have you come here armed with weapons of some sort?"

Erik approached the old priest, his steps silent and fluid as always, who was standing at the bookshelf with his back to him. "Just my sharp tongue," he replied, finding Father Michel's question amusing, yet disturbing. "But I've sheathed it for the moment...I've come to apologize."

Father Michel turned toward him, unable to hide the surprise in his eyes. "You have?"

"Yes. I invited you to our home and then I threw you out...I behaved like a lunatic. And my wife now has a kitchen full of broken dishes to prove the extent of my idiocy." He lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you...I accept your apology, my boy." He attempted a smile to lighten the tension, but Erik remained solemn.

"I've...never had a father...you know that," Erik continued, stepping away and seating himself in an armchair. "The man I knew for part of my childhood taught me a few things, but he never really loved me for who I was..._despite_ who I was." He swallowed hard, and found that he could not turn to meet Father Michel's gaze. "I've never felt the love of a father...until now. I just..." He fought back tears, angry with himself for being so conflicted. "I just don't want to lose you now...now that I've just found you." As he stared at the rug in front of the fireplace, Father Michel sat down across from him.

Waiting and watching, the priest marveled as this man, once hardened by life and his own darkness, now sat humbly before him, a picture of a hurting child.

"I'm asking for your forgiveness for my selfishness," Erik continued, at last looking at the old priest directly. "And though I don't want you to go...I understand why you must."

"Erik," Father Michel responded at last, "do you think that this has in any way been a simple decision for me? You are like a _son_ to me, your wife like a daughter. And now...you are to have a _child_! I feel as though I'm losing the only family that _I_ have, as well." He felt his own eyes beginning to fill with tears. "But I made a promise long ago that where He led me, I would follow. And I must keep that promise, no matter how much it pains me. He walked the most painful path of all, and I must also take up my cross, for the sake of the gospel."

"I know," Erik responded, scowling. "I know that you have no choice, really. But it...it just...upsets me." He paused to collect his thoughts, quickly growing more agitated. "No. **No**! It _infuriates_ me that God would bring you into my life, only to have you leave again after such a short time! I just don't _understand_ this!" His voice reached a tense pitch, and Father Michel laid a hand on his arm to calm him.

"My boy, we will _always_ have each other...regardless of what happens here on this earth. We will spend _eternity_ together."

"That's all well and good, but I need your wisdom **now**!" Erik spat. "I won't _need_ to have someone teach me how to be a loving father once I've entered eternity, and I _won't_ need someone to teach me the ways of God once I've arrived there, now _will _I?"

_This anger is only a mask for his pain._ Father Michel chose his words carefully. "I realize that, Erik, but you must believe that the Lord knows _best _about all of these things...everything will work together for my good and yours, if we trust in Him."

"Well, you'll have to excuse me if I'm having trouble with that concept at this moment."

"Understandably."

"How do you just accept this so _readily_...this...this arbitrary _change_ in your life?" Erik asked, frowning.

"Oh, my boy," Father Michel sighed. "Through much, much prayer. Change is never easy, but I will stagnate if I remain here in disobedience to God's call."

Erik fell silent then, pondering the statement. _Stagnate? Is that what is happening to me? Is this why I am beginning to lose the passion for my current work?_ He hadn't shared his feelings before, not even with Christine. He was afraid..._terrified_...of the things that God might ask of him...

"Erik? Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Oh...yes. Well, I mean, I was just mulling over what you said. And I suppose...I do understand. You've lost the desire for your work here, in Paris."

"No, _no_, that isn't it at all. I love my work here. I always have. But there is another place to which I am being sent. That will never change my love for my parish here, nor for you and Christine, and...your _baby_." He could restrain his tears no longer. "Oh, my dear boy...it pains me so greatly to leave you. It is the _last_ thing on this earth that I would wish to do, and believe me, I would stay if it were not God Himself who calls me..." A large tear escaped down his round, flushed cheek as he closed his eyes. After a brief moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Father, I'm so sorry...I was thinking only of _myself_ and how your decision would affect _me_...I had no idea--"

"No idea that this would hurt _me_ as much as it is hurting _you_?" The old priest interrupted, looking up at him with a curious expression. "Erik, in my heart, you are my _son_. And you are also my friend. I am going into an unfamiliar land with an unfamiliar people, doing something that I have never done before. I'm very much afraid!"

Erik failed to suppress a laugh. "_You?_ _Afraid?_ After surviving and befriending the dreaded _Opera Ghost_, I should think you could do anything." He raised an eyebrow, eliciting a chuckle from the priest.

"Yes..." he said, drawing out a handkerchief to wipe his nose. "I suppose you do have a point."

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A/N: Please review...I do accept reviews from non-members! And thank you to all my readers:) Have a blessed week!


	66. Chapter 66

**Chapter Sixty-Six**

Three weeks had passed quickly, and Erik had spent most of his time isolated in his study. Only on occasion would Christine hear him pounding out his frustrations elsewhere...on the piano, which she hoped would survive the onslaught.

She had been feeling more energetic for several days, even waking hungry for breakfast...shunning the stale crackers at her bedside. _Sooner than even Doctor Farzin anticipated, it seems._ She smiled to herself and hummed a tune as she set about to do some of the washing. _Won't Erik be surprised! If he ever emerges from his study long enough to notice..._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Blank. A blank page...again!_ Growling in frustration, Erik crumpled the paper, ripping it from his drafting table. _This has to stop! They're not paying me for a lack of ideas on this project!_ He and his partners had agreed that he should be the one to design the largest of the most recent tasks, and there he was, pacing the room, with no vision for the structure whatsoever. He knew what the client wanted, but couldn't bring himself to create a structure so devoid of emotion. Even a structure of _minor beauty_ would at least satiate his desire to make something worthwhile, but no...it was just a simple project...large structure, large undertaking...but a simple and bland one nonetheless. He just couldn't see the point.

Several times, he had fought against the melodies in his head, which called to him to be written and played...and several times, he lost the battle. He hated that he was avoiding his wife and their unborn child, but he didn't feel worthy of them in his solitary state of mind. He was angry at God, angry at himself, angry at the situation that seemed to be going nowhere. _I used to abhor change, and now...now I crave it! If something doesn't change soon, Lord, I don't think I can stand it!_ His mind screamed for release, for purpose, and clear direction. _Help me...I feel like a blind man, groping along a wall...a man without eyes to see the path I am to take. _"So, what now?"

Sighing, he returned to his drafting table and placed a fresh paper there. He closed his eyes and prayed..._give me something to go on. Something...__**anything**. _His hand moved across the page fluidly for some time, his slide rule left untouched, and eyes still tightly closed. A picture came to his mind...rooms filled with color, simple angles with windows to let in the sunlight...warmth and welcome...hope. _Hope?_ His eyes popped open and he stared down at the page before him. _What in God's name is __**this**?_

"Erik?" Christine's gentle voice came from the other side of the study door, causinghim to jump in surprise. He hadn't even heard her approach, he had been so absorbed in his sketching.

"Yes...come in, mon ange."

The knob turned and Christine opened the door, noting Erik's grim demeanor before smiling deliberately at him. "I thought you might be ready for lunch."

"I'm really not very hungry."

"Oh." Her smile quickly faded.

"But thank you."

As she bowed her head and turned to pull the door closed behind her, he spoke again. "Christine...will you come and sit with me a while?"

She looked up, her eyes alight and her smile back in place. "Oh...I'd like that! Of course." She eagerly seated herself in an armchair and he came to sit in the one nearest to her.

"I've been thinking..."

"I know."

He glanced at her curiously, seeing a slight amusement in her features. _No doubt, she knows me too well. _"I've been very unhappy with the way things are...in my work. I can't seem to--I suppose I just don't--oh, I don't even _know_ what to say about it!" He exhaled sharply in frustration. "Now...with Father Michel leaving, I feel lost at times. He _knows_ what God would have him to do, but here I sit, completely uncertain of my future!"

"And you've been praying about this?"

He eyed her sharply. "Of _course_ I have been."

"Good. I'm glad to know that you haven't neglected your prayer time as you've neglected...a few _other_ things lately."

His mouth gaped in surprise at the audacity of her statement. _She must truly feel hurt._ "Christine..."

"Maybe you should speak to Father Michel about it. Perhaps he can offer you some advice."

_'Since you aren't asking for mine', is what she really means to say..._ "Yes...perhaps." _Though I already know what Father Michel would have to say on the matter._ He smiled a little, studying her features. "If the offer is still open," he said at last, reaching forward to caress her hand, "I think I _would_ like to have lunch now."

She relaxed, returning the smile. "I'd like that, too."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik spent the next several days making peace with the situation beyond his control. Father Michel's departure was imminent, and Erik knew that he could either make things more pleasant for his friend or he could cause bitterness to grow. He chose the former, and had gone to the church to help him pack his belongings...mainly books and a few personal items. Never in his life had he pictured himself wrapping and packing teacups and saucers...

"You have to write when you arrive."

"Of course I will."

"I will be expecting to hear from you _very soon_ after you settle in."

Father Michel turned and gave him a queer look. "_Yes_, Erik. I understand...there's no need to worry, my boy."

"I'm _not_ worried." _And I used to be such a convincing liar._

"Could've fooled me." Father Michel tried not to laugh as Erik glared at his retort. "Oh, Erik. We are _family _now. It's only natural for you to be concerned for my well-being, as I am for yours. Wouldn't you agree?"

Erik huffed. "Well, yes, "concern" would be a better term. It is a long journey...many days and stops along the way...and a portion by boat along the Danube, as you've said." He gestured dramatically with his hand. "Naturally, I am _concerned_ for your safe arrival. "

The old priest laughed. "Well, now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

"What time does your train leave tomorrow?" Erik asked, pointedly ignoring his question.

"Noon. I've informed the Laurents of my departure, as well. They have offered to drive me to the train station."

Erik frowned. "I thought that_ I _was to take you there."

"Oh." Father Michel went back to packing. "Well, I must have forgotten about that. They offered, and--"

"You _cannot _be replaced."

"What?" The priest stopped abruptly, turning to see Erik's mournful expression.

"No matter what you are trying to accomplish by reuniting me with the Laurents, they can never take your place." He stiffened his jaw. "You will be _missed_, Father."

Father Michel released a long sigh, settling the last book into a crate. "Erik, no one can replace _anyone_ in this world. I am just trying to look after you and make certain that you never go back to...well, that you never go _back_. You need to be around people who care for you. And your wife needs it too...and so will your little one."

The silence hung thickly in the room then, and Erik turned away, finishing the job of wrapping each fragile teacup.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I don't want to do this. I don't want to say goodbye. I **can't**."

"Yes, you can, and you _will_. We will do this together, and we will pray for him every day."

"What if something happens to him? What if I never _see_ him again?"

Christine sighed, turning to face Erik as she descended from the carriage, her hand in his. "You can't do this now, Erik. You have to be strong, for Father Michel. Come...they may be waiting inside."

They entered the train station and Erik glanced around the bustling room, looking for familiar faces, attempting to keep his mask hidden beneath the cowl of his cloak.

"There they are!" came a young woman's voice in their direction. Erik turned to see Amêlie Laurent maneuvering her wheelchair toward him, her dark hair flowing freely about her shoulders. "Monsieur Erik! Madame Christine! It's wonderful to see you again!" Her smile seemed to light up the room, and Erik couldn't help but return it with a smile of his own.

_She is maturing quickly._ "Hello, young songbird," he said with affection, reaching for her hand. "Have you been practicing and singing?"

"Of course. I wouldn't want to disappoint my teacher...although his absence has been long and rather unbearable," she winked. "Have you _abandoned _me?"

Erik sighed. "No, I've just been busy with work and with our new home. I'm sorry...I _have_ neglected my favorite student, haven't I?" He grinned, cupping her small chin in his hand. "And I have _missed_ you, Amêlie."

She blushed, turning her head quickly to smile at Christine. "You look _beautiful_, Madame Christine! I hear that you are to have a little one! I'm so excited for you both!"

Christine stepped forward, leaning in to grasp Amêlie's hand. "Thank you, Mademoiselle Amêlie. I hope that if it is a girl, she will be as sweet and lovely as you."

"Oh!" Amêlie gasped in surprise and giggled. "Thank you so much...that is quite a compliment! I hope that your child has your lovely voice and your husband's extraordinary artistic abilities."

"Then we shall have quite a _handful_ to deal with, won't we?" quipped Christine.

"Well, congratulations are in order, I hear!" Monsieur Gregoire's voice boomed as he and his wife approached behind their daughter. "Expecting one of your own! I see you wasted little time," he teased, firmly shaking Erik's hand.

"Yes, I never was one to procrastinate," Erik laughed. "How have you been, Gregoire? And Madame Suzette, you're looking well. I've missed visiting with you both."

They chatted briefly, exchanging pleasantries and insisting upon future meals at each other's homes, until they heard a train whistle in the distance. Erik's smile faded rapidly, and he turned to see Father Michel standing and observing his friends. "Oh...it's almost time," Erik spoke softly.

Monsieur Gregoire eyed him sympathetically. "Yes. Yes, it is. I suppose we should say our farewells now."

"And prayers for safe travels," Madame Suzette added.

They all gathered around Father Michel, quietly praying for his safety and for blessing in his new ministry. The old priest lost his composure as he heard Erik's voice amongst the others, trembling with emotion. Many tears were shed and Father Michel embraced each one, the last being Erik.

"My son." He opened his arms and Erik came into them like a child, sobbing into his shoulder. He gripped the sides of Father Michel's traveling cloak in his fists, fighting the trembling of his body as best he could, not wishing to humiliate himself nor cause Father Michel further pain. The Laurents turned away out of respect for the moment, looking elsewhere and making small talk with Christine.

They embraced until the last call to board, and Father Michel pulled away. "Until we meet again, my son...I love you." He placed his palm on Erik's damp, unmasked cheek and tenderly looked into his eyes one last time. "_Remember _that you have a father who _loves_ you."

He stepped onto the train and found his seat. The friends he was leaving behind stood outside the window...all of them waving and smiling bravely...except for Erik. Instead, he stared at the ground until Father Michel's window was nearly out of sight, lifting his eyes to meet his friend's for one brief second just before the train rolled out of the station. _Numb. Oh, God, just let me go numb..._

_Erik is in Your able hands, Lord. Take care of him, and let his heart remain steadfast. _Father Michel gladly accepted a newspaper from another passenger on the train, but found that he was reading the same words over and over again, absorbing none of the information. After an hour of the charade, he sighed and folded the paper again, placing it on the seat beside him. _Just let me sleep, so I don't have to think..._

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**A/N:** Thanks so much for your reviews! They always brighten my day.


	67. Chapter 67

**A/N: Okay, so at the prodding of a friend (and of Erik, haha) I am posting this chapter a day ahead of the schedule I planned. This chapter and the next one will go together, so I hope that it confuses no one. You're all smart and observant readers anyhow, so I know you'll be great:) Next chapter will be up hopefully in a week or so. Thanks, everyone for your reviews!**

**Chapter Sixty-Seven**

_My Son,_

_I trust that all is well with you and your sweet wife. I promised you that I would write when I arrived, and I am making good on that promise. I have come into a very difficult situation, unlike any that I have known before. It appears that I was not fully informed about the situation here. Father Tomescu is glad to have me, but he was surprised to learn that I had not yet been told about the state of affairs._

_The Church is reluctantly allowing this orphanage to remain open, at the persistent urging of Father Tomescu. It seems that in the past twenty-five years of operation, it has become overrun with "undesirables." Neither Father Tomescu nor myself have had any success in securing men to help with the repairs to this facility. They refuse to help us, because of the origin of most of our orphans. Though the Rroma people have been declared free for nearly thirty years now, there is a dark cloud that seems to hang over them...they are hated, Erik. Despised. And yet, when I look into the eyes of the children, I can find nothing there but innocence. We are even forced to pay medical doctors outrageous sums of money to come and treat the young ones who are infirm. I am appalled and disgusted...and I find that I cannot turn away from the need._

_The necessary repairs are vast. Much worse than I anticipated. The structure is becoming unstable due to poor upkeep. Father Tomescu has done his best, but with no others to share the labor, there was little that he could do. There are four sisters of charity who reside here as well and care for the young ones. They also have done their best to aid in repairs when not soothing those who cry for their attention._

_Just twice this week, we have had infants left on our doorstep in the night...they are from the Gypsy bands...roaming through, looking for work in the nearby villages...I can hear them as I toss and turn in my bed. I haven't had a full night's sleep since I arrived, Erik. My mind has been so restless... We named the first child, a boy, Joseph. He must be no older than three months...he has resisted taking the bottle as he was not properly weaned. The other, a girl, we named Esther, for surely she has come into the world for such a time as this. The sisters tell me she is likely past six months. She cries often...day and night...like many of the others. There is a purpose for them under Heaven. I must believe that._

_No one comes here seeking children. This situations seems so impossible...yet I know that with God, all things are possible. Please, my boy...both of you pray for the work here that is to be done. I know that Heaven will hear._

_Your Father,_

_Eugéne Michel_

_Eugéne? His Christian name is Eugéne? Why did I never know this before? _Erik folded the letter and placed it in his Bible, planning to share it with Christine the next morning during their time together over breakfast. _This is horrible! Lord, why have you sent him into such an awful situation?_ He had tried to come to terms with Father Michel's absence in the only way he could over the few weeks since his departure...by turning to his wife and friends in conversation, and to his God in prayer. He had even composed a new piece, and was proud that something good had come of this pain. Yet he still had no clear direction, and the waiting game was growing more difficult day by day...

"Erik?" Christine came into the study without knocking. He had purposely left the door open a bit, hoping that she would come and join him.

"_Mon amour_," he murmured, standing and placing his Bible on the ledge by the window, bathing it in the light from the setting sun. "Come with me...I need you to sing for me."

He led her to the piano in the sitting room and she sang an aria that he had taught her years before. He accompanied her on the piano, smiling as she finished. "Still beautiful as always," he cooed softly. "Sit with me."

"Sit with you? There?"

He patted the bench beside him. "Come," he breathed, a hint of desire in his voice.

She raised an eyebrow but did as he asked. As she sat, he wrapped his arms around her waist, which had thickened slightly over the past weeks. He kissed her curls, burying his nose in them, inhaling their lavender scent. He began to sing a song to her in an unfamiliar language. His voice beckoned, calling to her with a sweetness, and yet...a hint of the darkness and danger that she once knew in him. She leaned into his chest, her stomach tightening at the thought of being with him..._it has been too long._

As if sensing her emotion, he stood, lifting her from the bench into his arms, never faltering in his song. It continued to repeat in an intricate pattern, weaving a fabric of desire into her soul. She refused to fight it...she had missed her husband and his touch, and the oneness that she could not live without.

"I need you," she whispered.

And he answered her without words...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine sat, her lip trembling, as Erik read Father Michel's letter aloud at the breakfast table the next morning. He finished, and she still said nothing, simply chewing her tongue to keep herself from bursting into tears.

"It sounds like an impossible situation, I know," Erik remarked, his voice low and sorrowful. "How are they to get anything accomplished without the help of people from the nearby villages? I can't believe that they won't help...they're only _children_--"

"_Gypsy_ children, Erik," Christine added at last. "To many, even here in France, they aren't **people**...just a wandering nuisance."

"I realize that all too well, cherie." Erik stated grimly, pursing his lips in thought. "I need to go to the firm today to see how things are progressing with a few of the newer projects. I may not be home until dark...you don't need to prepare a meal for me tonight. I'll just eat something before I travel home."

"Oh. Well, I suppose that's alright..._if_ you promise to bring me something sweet...perhaps a pastry or some _chocolate_." Christine's eyes went wide at the word "chocolate," and Erik laughed.

"Ah, yes! Your favorite. Well, mon amour, I shall do my best to procure something sweet for your palate tonight. You just make sure to get some rest today."

"Actually, I've been feeling better...I haven't felt ill for several days now, and I thought I might do some cleaning. The drapes are getting dusty, and--"

"Oh, _no_ you won't! You're not to be climbing up on _anything_, do you understand me?" Erik scolded her with a furrowed brow. "_Rest_. Do as you're _told_, Madame Durand," he said,winking at her as his expression softened.

Christine rolled her eyes and sighed. "Let me be useful while I still _can_ be...before I become too large to accomplish anything aside from lying around all day due to exhaustion!" She huffed. "I'm not an invalid."

"No," he said softly, kissing her forehead. "You're my wife...the woman that I love. And you're carrying my child. **No drapes**, Christine."

His grave expression caused her to hold her tongue from any further argument, and she nodded in compliance. He tilted her chin upward with a finger and smiled as her eyes met his. "I _love_ you, you know."

The sudden tenderness in his eyes made her stomach flutter. "I love you, too, Angel," she smiled. "Be careful traveling...and have a good day at the office today."

"I will." He leaned down to claim her lips in a tender kiss. "And I won't forget your chocolate," he teased her.

Hours later, she was alone and began to feel a familiar exhaustion sweeping over her again. As she lay down on the bed, she felt an uncomfortable twinge in her belly.

"Oh!" Her hand flew to her lower abdomen in surprise. Immediately she laughed at herself. _I never know what to expect with this little one! _Without warning, she felt an urge to urinate and rushed to the lavatory. _My goodness...is this normal? _As she finished and stood, she gasped. _Red. Oh, God...**blood**?_ "What...what is _happening_?" she said aloud, her whole body trembling. She felt a chill rush through her as a pain radiated across her stomach and into her back. She cried out in pain, bending over at the waist. She raised her skirts quickly to sit down again, and felt a warm liquid running down her inner thighs.

"Oh, God...no...**no**!" she screamed before she felt blackness engulf her, and she fell to the floor, her head nearly hitting the side of the door as her legs gave way. "Erik..." she moaned groggily, before succumbing completely to the clammy darkness of unconsciousness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Christine? Christine!" the voice seemed to be miles away, calling her name... "Christine! Mon ange, where are you?"..._growing closer...louder_...

_Erik?_

"Oh, dear Jesus! _Christine!_ Oh, God!"

She heard her husband's voice distantly, as if he were in crowded room, yet she felt his arms around her as she was lifted from the floor. Her head was pounding and her entire body ached.

"Oh, Jesus...**God**!" Erik's voice was laced with panic, and she felt the soft bed beneath her before she drifted back into the blackness...grateful for it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Doctor Farzin stepped out of the bedroom into the hallway and closed the door softly behind him. He sighed and slowly made his way to the sitting room, where Erik was perched uneasily in an armchair, head in his hands. He heard the small man's footsteps and looked up sharply, his eyes reddened. "Christine?"

"She is resting comfortably. She may be asleep for some time…I have given her a small dose of laudanum for the pain."

Erik swallowed hard and stumbled over his next question. "And the…the _baby_?"

The doctor frowned, his sorrowful eyes peering over the rims of his glasses. "Erik, I'm...I'm so very sorry. Sometimes...it just _happens_."

Erik stared at him in disbelief. He spoke, but the words did not fully register in his mind. "I need to see her."

"Of course. I've left some laudanum with instructions on the nightstand if she should need it for any pain. If she begins to run a fever, you must not hesitate to send for me at once."

"I understand. Thank you, Doctor," Erik remarked vaguely. He stood and walked away from him, not bothering to see him to the door. The doctor took his cue, understanding the sorrow of the moment, and left, closing the front door behind him.

Erik slowly approached the bedroom, trying not to wake Christine. She lay on their bed, covered to her chest with a blanket, resting peacefully. He slipped noiselessly across the room and knelt down by the bed, gently reaching for her hand. It was warm, and he pressed it to his cheek. In a harsh whisper, he poured out what was in his heart. "Oh, Christine, my darling. Oh, _God_…oh, God, _why_?" He sighed raggedly, letting the reality of his loss penetrate his heart and mind at last. He began to release his sorrow, wetting the blanket with his tears. "Our _baby_! Our **child**! Why? **Why?** Have you not forgiven me for my wrongs? Was I _mistaken_? The least You could have done was take it out on me **alone**, not my wife and _child_! Oh, **God**!" He sobbed for over an hour, glad that Christine was sedated and could not hear him. He cried out in anger and sorrow until he was utterly spent. When he stood at last, he rounded the bed on aching knees and lay his large frame upon the blanket, turning toward Christine. As he stroked her hair, he fell into a deep and haunting sleep.

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From somewhere in his emerging consciousness, Erik was keenly aware that he was being watched. He slowly opened his eyes and looked, blinking, into the face of his wife. She was rubbing his arm and gazing at him solemnly, her face slightly pale and her eyes reddened from weeping. He reached up to caress her cheek and moved his head closer to her own, so that their foreheads were nearly touching. _I have no idea what I should say. _He was so overcome with his own grief that he could not offer any proper words of comfort to Christine, so he simply lay there with her, stroking her face and gazing at her until she closed her eyes again in sleep. After several minutes, the first rays of dawn began to appear at the window, and he lifted himself gracefully from the bed, being careful not to jar her from her slumber. Turning to look upon her once more before he left the bedroom, he closed the door silently behind him.

He lumbered heavily down the hallway, passing the study and the music room without a glance, headed toward the kitchen. Slumping into a high-backed chair at the small breakfast table, he put his head in his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed his black, leather bound Bible resting near the corner of the table, its edges beginning to show wear, none of the pages clinging together. It had been well read, every morning over coffee. Much of the time, Erik read by himself until Christine rose a short while later, joining him at the table, where he recited to her certain passages he considered worthy of discussion. They always prayed together afterward, and then he spent the day at his desk in the corner of the study, where he kept his architectural drawings, working steadily.

But today was different. Erik stared at the Bible, looming before him. He was furious at God, for the first time since his days at the Opera. _The words mock me_, he thought, though he knew deep within himself that it wasn't true. He sat for a few moments in blankness and confusion, before he abruptly stood from his chair and strode to the stove to make coffee. The house was quiet…too quiet. He was completely alone with his own thoughts, aside from an unspoken presence that he had come to know each morning. Even today, of all days, he still felt it. He knew that once more, he was being watched by the One who sees all things. He sat down in his chair again with his coffee, and made mental excuses as to why he should never pick up his Bible again.

"How can I _ever _believe what You say anymore?" he wondered aloud, angrily slamming his coffee cup to the table surface. Some of the hot liquid leapt from the side of the cup, landing on the back of his hand. He hissed sharply and drew back in pain. "You have taken my child from me, and You have broken my wife's heart! There is nothing that You can say that will atone for this grievous _error_!" he growled. He picked up the Bible, fully prepared to throw it to the floor, but found that he couldn't. He closed his eyes and held it tightly in his left hand.

"I can't _do_ this," he said more softly. "I _can't_…I don't understand why You have done this, but I…" He found himself unable to finish as tears flowed silently at first, but slowly his gasps increased in their frequency, and he could no longer contain himself. As he began to sob, he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Then from the depths of his being, a torturous wail pierced the otherwise silent house. He was amazed that such a sound could emanate from _any_ grown man, let alone himself. He slid from the chair and dropped to his knees before prostrating himself on the kitchen floor. Brokenness and humility flooded his being, and he was unconcerned with his appearance as he cried out to God for understanding. Suddenly, he was reminded of David from the Psalms that he had read so many times before. _He lost his son, as well, _he thought._ His first child. But that was because of his own sin, wasn't it? So what have **I **done to warrant this, Lord? Have I not tried to serve you with my whole heart? Have I not also given of my income and my time as well? Have I not done so cheerfully? **Why?** Why has this happened to us? _He wept silently, then, praying for an answer, and after a time, he sensed a peace in the room. He fully expected that if he were to look up, he would see God Himself standing before him. Then, like a whisper , came again a Voice in his heart: _What did my Son do to warrant so much pain?_

"What?" Erik whispered bitterly. He knew that he had clearly heard the question, but he had no idea what the voice was really asking. "What do you mean by this?"

As if in response,a Scripture verse penetrated his mind: _"In this world you will have trouble, but be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world."_

"Be of good _cheer_? **Good cheer**, at a time like this? You are **cruel**, as I always believed!" His voice was cold, and trembled with an increasing anger.

"_There is no cruelty in Me…only goodness. It was My will to crush my Son and cause Him to suffer. Are you not grateful that He took your punishment?"_

Erik was stunned. "You **know** that I am! But…"

"_My Son did not deserve the pain that He suffered. He did so to fulfill My perfect will. And My will **is** perfect, though you may not always understand. Trust in Me with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Me, and I will make your paths straight."_

Erik waited, feeling the trembling of his body against the cold floor.

"_Your child is with Me and he waits for you until the proper time. He will not return to you, but you will go to him, even as David has now come to his son. All things will be restored and made right in My Kingdom...there will be no pain or sorrow. You will see him soon. Remember that He was My child even before he was yours. Comfort your wife with My words."_

Erik's leg jerked as he woke with a start on the kitchen floor, wondering if he had really been dreaming. _It was too real_, he marveled. He sat up on his knees, shaking and weeping, allowing the words of comfort to begin to heal his heart.

Standing at last on wobbly legs, he made his way to the bedroom where Christine lay.

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A/N: Okay...I'm almost afraid to ask for reviews. I can't apologize to those of you who may be disappointed in the direction of this story, though...I wrote it as I envisioned it. I can say however, that you shouldn't worry...the story's not over yet. :)


	68. Chapter 68

"_This is what it means...to be held...how it feels...when the sacred is torn from your life, and you survive. This is what it is to be loved and to know that the promise was when everything fell, we'd be held." _

-- "Held" as performed by Natalie Grant

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Christine woke to the sound of a tormented wail coming from somewhere in her home. She could not place the location, but she knew the voice. _Erik._ She shifted slightly in the bed, and suddenly there was a throbbing between her legs. She winced in pain and gritted her teeth, realizing what the doctor must have done to prevent an infection. _I wish this were only a nightmare._ She laid a warm palm across her middle. _My baby...our baby...is gone. Oh, God...I feel so empty. _Her lower abdomen cramped lightly as she listened to the repeated wailing, which turned to weeping and then eventually faded out completely. She was jarred to her core at the sound of Erik's agony, and cried along with him, privately releasing her pain. "It's _my_ fault," she whispered fiercely. "It must have been something that I've done! I…I must have caused this somehow. Or perhaps my body is just not strong enough to carry a child." Tears rolled between her lashes, her heart breaking at the thought of never giving birth. She tried to roll over to her side as her cramps grew more intense, and she grasped Erik's unoccupied pillow, pulling it toward her face to muffle her sobs. Suddenly, she felt a sickeningly warm gush of wetness between her legs and knew that she was bleeding. "Erik!"

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Erik was on his way to the bedroom when he heard Christine's panicked voice. He broke into a run down the hallway and threw open the bedroom door. "Christine? What is it? What's wrong?" He was breathing rapidly and staring at her, wild-eyed.

Her eyes were wide with fear. "I…I'm bleeding…and it _hurts_!"

He rushed to her side and threw back the blanket. Her nightgown was soaked through in one area and the blood had transferred onto the sheets. Erik was relieved to see that it was not a significant amount of blood, but he cast a concerned glance at her. "Just a moment…let me read the doctor's instructions." He furrowed his brow as he scanned the paper, scrutinizing the indications for the laudanum the doctor had left on the nightstand. Near the bottom, Doctor Farzin had written that bleeding was to be expected, but that it should not be excessive as to soak several changes of clothing, and that it should taper off in a few days. Erik also recalled what the doctor had said about fever…he would be sure to send for him if anything out of the ordinary occurred. Erik lifted a hand to Christine's forehead.

"No fever," he sighed thankfully. "And it appears that some bleeding is normal. He has left some medicine for any pain you might experience. You…you said that you _are_ in pain?" He frowned as the tension in her face confirmed the fact. "Here, mon ange, let me get you some water. I'll be right back."

Christine watched him in silence as he rushed from the room. _What would I do without him? He always seems to know what to do..._ She looked down between her legs. Sure enough, there was a dark red spot on her gown, as large as a dinner plate. _Now I'll have to change my gown and the sheets_, she thought, unnerved. "Is it not enough that I have lost my child? Must I also go through this physical ordeal?" she wondered audibly, staring hopelessly at the ceiling. "_Why_? All I wanted was to bear his child...to have a family with the man I love more than anyone else in this world! And now...what if I never _will_?"

Erik returned with her water and noticed her bloodshot, sorrowful eyes. He knelt at her side, setting the glass on the bedside table and pouring out a small amount of laudanum for her to take. She looked from the spoon to Erik's eyes with uncertainty.

"It's alright...just enough to help you sleep. This medicine can be overused and we will take care never to let that happen." He smiled slightly as she opened her mouth in response and took the medicine, scowling as she swallowed. He placed the glass of water to her lips, tipping it so that she could get a sip. "Let's get you changed now," he said softly, as if he had read her mind. "You just let me take care of everything, _ma belle femme_," he said, attempting to put on a brave smile for her benefit.

Christine blinked and tried to return a smile, but instead, she fought to hold back tears. Her breathing became erratic as Erik set her glass on the nightstand and slowly leaned in closer to her, brushing her hair from her forehead. "I…_I love you_, Christine," he whispered, unsure of what to say, and searching her face desperately for some point of emotional connection. "I wish…" he trailed off, looking directly into her eyes. Suddenly, his composure gave way and he sobbed, tearing his eyes from hers and laying his forehead on her shoulder. "Oh, Christine! I am supposed to _protect_ you, but I _couldn't_! I couldn't prevent this from happening to you! You must know that I would do anything to spare you this pain! _Anything!_" He wept bitterly, his hot tears wetting her nightgown and the inside of his mask. She reached up, caressing the back of his head with her fingers and weaving them through his hair. For several minutes, they remained there until Erik felt Christine's chest trembling. He lifted his head and raised his bleary eyes to study her face. Her eyelids were tightly closed, and she was fighting her emotions as best she could. He rose, turning her head to face him and laying his forehead against hers. "My love, you must let it out. It's unhealthy to keep everything bottled within you."

Christine opened her eyes and vacantly stared at him. "Why should it matter what happens to me? I cannot bear you a child. I have surely lost the only one I will ever carry." She leaned back against her pillow and turned her face away from him.

He sighed deeply and whispered in her ear as he stroked her matted curls. _I must be strong for her._ "Christine, you are _everything_ to me...and my darling, the doctor never said _anything_ about you being unable to bear a child. It is a common thing for women to…for them to…" he stopped, unable to continue because of the unsteadiness in his voice. He cleared his throat. "Here. Can you sit up?" Keeping her eyes averted from his, Christine leaned up as best as she could and he carefully lifted her from the bed. Finding an unsoiled towel from when the doctor had visited, he threw it over the seat of the armchair in the corner of the room and gingerly settled her there. "Let me change the sheets, and then I'll get another gown for you, mon ange."

Christine felt sick to her stomach…not from the miscarriage alone, but because she was nearly helpless. She hated the feeling of being unable to care for her own needs, or her husband's. _Here he is_, she thought angrily, _tending to my needs, when I should be healthy and pregnant and tending to **his** needs for as long as I am able. I can't stand to just lie here and do nothing!_ She wanted so desperately to busy herself with some household task to distract her mind from what had just occurred, but she knew it was not to be. She would have to sit and think…and grieve…

Erik returned with clean sheets and stripped the bed, cleaning the soiled spot and covering the large part of the mattress with thick towels. He replaced the bloodstained sheets with soft, clean ones and smiled comfortingly at her as he strode to the wardrobe to retrieve a fresh nightgown. "I don't think that you should try to stand right now, mon ange, because of the bleeding…but perhaps if we work together, we can get you into some clean garments," he remarked, his eyes tender and sympathetic.

Christine nodded. He lifted her slightly from the chair so that she could raise her nightgown up to her hips, and as he set her back down, she raised her arms, attempting to pull the gown off by herself. Erik instructed her to relax, and he pulled the gown over her head and off her arms slowly. Christine instinctively moved to cover herself, and he ignored the gesture. He placed the clean nightgown over her head and attempted to work her arms into the sleeves. As he moved to lift her and place her back in the bed, she stopped him. "I…I'll need something…to keep from bleeding on the sheets, Erik." She glanced up at him, embarrassed and ashamed. He exhaled loudly through his nostrils.

"I'm sorry…I forgot. Just a moment." He seated her in the chair again and left the room briefly, only to return with several thick washrags in hand. "We…can purchase new ones later," he said flatly, brusquely placing them into her palms, his own hands clammy and trembling. "Are you ready now?"

She nodded.

He laid her on the sheets and she quickly put the washrags between her legs, feeling very self-conscious as she did so. "Are you comfortable?" he asked her.

"I think so. I...I'm sorry that I can't do this on my own."

Erikbalked at her unnecessary apology. "Christine, I am your _husband_ and you are my _wife_...we are to care for each other in all things. And I have _never _minded taking care of you, mon ange." He paused for a moment and leaned down to caress her face. "There is something that I...I believe I am to share with you. But...I do not know if you are ready to hear it."

Christine sighed. "Erik...I don't know what I can hear or even think about right now, except for the fact that our precious baby is..." She trailed off, unable to even speak the word to her husband.

"But--"

"I just want to sleep. Please, could you just allow me to sleep for a while? I don't want to talk right now. Just hold me...I need you."

He moved to lay next to her on the bed. And yet...she had never felt more alone in her life. As grief gave way to exhaustion, she felt words again whispered in her heart, as she had heard in the organ loft weeks before... "_"Let not your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful. My grace is sufficient for you..." _She vaguely felt her husband shift his weight beside her as his strong arms enveloped her in a comforting warmth. _"I will never leave you nor forsake you. Trust in me." _As sleep overtook her, she sensed another pair of strong arms...holding her...protecting her...beginning to heal the wounds that they themselves had allowed to occur.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Her blonde curls gleaming in the sunlight, Angelique sat upon the garden bench of her future estate, lost in thought. She didn't hear husband-to-be approaching from behind.

"Pondering the mysteries of the universe again, my love?"

Raoul's voice had startled her, and she let out a small gasp. She turned to see him stifling a grin. "Raoul! I...you shouldn't sneak up on me like that!" She cast a sideways glance at him as she turned around again, gazing off into the distance.

"I didn't mean to frighten you, darling," he said, drawing near and resting a hand on her shoulder. "I wondered where you'd gone. My brother is to join us for lunch this afternoon. Had you forgotten?"

"Oh...is that _this_ afternoon?" She smiled up at him as he came around the bench to seat himself beside her. "I suppose I _had_ forgotten about that. I hope that this visit will be a more pleasant one. Did he invite himself again?" She gave him a wry, knowing smile.

"Naturally. He's still trying to convince me to abandon the Populaire." He shook his head with a sigh. "The materials have already been decided upon. I delayed the managers for as long as I could...I just couldn't decide whether to listen to my brother's advice. But I suppose...Ireally can't turn back now. Even if it _isn't_ the wisest investment."

Angelique cast him a queer glance. "Why would you do it if it is unwise?"

Raoul looked deeply into her eyes, scrambling for an answer. "I...I just...can't let the managers down at this point."

"You're not beholden to them, darling. My father has had to make difficult choices such as this, but if he hadn't...I shudder to think of what might have happened to our family's finances. His instincts saved him from many an unsound business decision. Besides...you don't seem to act this way with any _other _investment or holding of which you've spoken. This seems more..._personal_, somehow."

Raoul quickly averted hisgaze from her, guilt churning in his gut. _I haven't even told her. God, I haven't told her the reason why! I have to be honest...how can I build a marriage with her when I'm still holding on to...to..._ He fidgeted, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs. "Angelique, I..." He paused, forcing himself to turn toward her. As he looked up, her warm blue eyes met his and he instantly felt at peace. _I can't keep this from her. She has a right to know... _"I think that I'm having some trouble letting go of the reconstruction efforts, because..."

Angelique squinted a bit, her eyes searching his face. She was growing more concerned with every breath. "What, Raoul? What is it?"

He spent the better part of an hour laying bare his soul before the woman he loved...the woman he had chosen to become his wife, and he prayed to God that he wasn't risking his entire future with her. As he finished, she was in tears. She had heard what she believed were exaggerated rumours of his past affair with a budding young opera singer...but now they were no longer rumours.

"Oh, Raoul...I don't even know what to _say_! Do...do you still...are you still in love with Christine Daae?" She raised a trembling hand to her throat, and Raoul silently cursed himself.

"It's Christine Durand, now. She's been married for...well, for several months."

Angelique stared at him, open-mouthed. He hadn't answered her question. _Oh, God._

He studied her face for a moment before he realized the same thing. "Oh...oh, darling...I'm sorry. My answer is _no_. I am not in love with her. But I will always love her in _some_ way. We were friends, and we obviously went throughsome hardships together. I thought that she was the one I was to spend my life with, but..." he smiled at Angelique. "But if I had married her, I never would have found _you._ When you came into my life, it was a miracle. I was headed down a path that would only have caused pain for myself and for Christine and her husband. And _you_ are the woman that I love more deeply than I ever dreamed possible. My feelings for Christine were...well, they were just different. She was the damsel in distress, and I her rescuer. But after rescue was over, I found that she hadn't needed saving after all." He smiled. "_You_, my Angelique, my golden angel, are the woman who has made me a better man just by being beside me. I will love you for _eternity_." He reached for her hand and she grasped his, weeping openly. His own eyes beginning to grow misty, he leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I love you...I _love_ you," he whispered to her, lifting her chin and bringing her lips to his in a kiss that revealed the truth of his declaration.

When tears were dried, a look of determination and certainty rested on Angelique's countenance. "Raoul," she spoke at last, her voice still raspy from weeping, "I want you to promise me something."

"Anything."

She chose her words carefully. "I want you to promise me that you will let go of your past so that we can move forward with our future, and build a life together."

"Of _course_, my love," he replied with tenderness in his eyes.

She fixed her pleading eyes upon his. "I...I want you to give up the reconstruction of the Populaire. For _us_."

His heart nearly missed a beat. He sat staring at her, as if time had frozen in place.

"If we are to have a family and a marriage that will stand the test of time, then you must let go of the things that bind you to Christine. My love, it is the only way." Her expression was sincere and full of adoration.

He sighed deeply and took her hands in his. "Then you have my word. I will speak to the managers tomorrow."

She smiled then, standing from the bench with her hands still in his. "Come...let's take a walk before le Comte arrives. Perhaps this time...his visit will be an _agreeable_ one, hmm?" Raoul gave her a wink in response as they started off down the garden path, and the weight of the world seemed to have been lifted from him as he gazed upward. The sky had never seemed so blue before.

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A/N: I want to sincerely thank all of you who reviewed my last chapter. It was an incredibly difficult one for me to write. And it seems to have evoked some strong, even some angry, emotions in some of my readers. And I thank you for expressing those emotions to me, because as an author it lets me know that my writing is accomplishing what I've intended...making you identify with the characters, love and care for them, and _feel_ something. I realize that it was most unexpected. However, I have attempted to make this story more than just a fairy tale..."angst" and "fluff" are both parts of life. We can't truly appreciate the good apart from the bad. Again, I thank you all for reading, and I do appreciate each and every review. Although I don't individually respond to a review unless I truly deem it necessary, I want you to know that I appreciate every single one.:) Thank you so much for taking the time to leave your comments.((HUGS))


	69. Chapter 69

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, everyone! I had a sick little boy here all weekend, and fully intended on posting this last night, when his fever shot up even higher and I had to tend to him, and then I've been running to two different doctors today. -sigh- But now, all is well and seems to be on the mend. So, I thank you for reading and I give you...**

**Chapter Sixty-Nine**

The sky was a dazzling shade of blue, but Christine didn't notice. Erik had attempted to open the drapes in the morning, but she had turned away, pushing a pillow over her face and moaning until he closed them again.

"If you're hungry, I can make you some breakfast," he suggested softly, giving her a timid smile.

She shook her head, still burying her face.

"Are you in pain?"

Christine didn't move. She didn't respond at all. She didn't know how. _Of course I am in pain!_ She heard him step toward the bed and she stiffened at his touch, unsure of why she did so.

Erik felt the familiar sting of rejection at her reaction to him. He tightened his jaw so as not to say something he would later regret. Drawing his hand away quickly, he couldn't stop himself from giving a curt remark as he left the room. "If you _need_ me, I'll be down the hall." The door closed behind him, rather firmly.

Christine knew he was angry, but she was angry, too. Part of her wished to feel nothingness...and the other part of her was glad to at least feel _something_. Something to let her know that she was still alive. _But why? Why am **I **still alive and not our baby? **Why?** Why did You do this to me?_ _You have done this before! You have taken what is precious from me more than once! _She wanted to cry out, to pound her fists upon the floor, but she was confined to her plush bed, in _comfort_. Curled in nearly a fetal position, she pressed her body weight into the center of her bed. Her fingers cramped as she gripped the quilt and pulled it upward, fists balled, toward the ceiling. She felt the fabric give, and heard a small tearing sound. It gave her little satisfaction. What she really wanted to do was throw something...shatter something..._anything_...into a million tiny, irreparable pieces. _Like my heart._

Memories of her father's death began to filter into her mind. She had been enraged inside when he passed--enraged at God, enraged at her father for leaving her--but she kept it hidden inside, behind a mask of her own. The only time she let her true feelings show was when she was alone in her room at night in the Opera dormitories, before her mirror. _Only I wasn't really alone at all, was I?_ She thought about it for a moment, wondering what Erik must have been feeling to see her through the mirror in such great pain, he being unable to physically console her at that time. _He must be feeling the same way now..._

She lost her train of thought as she heard music coming from two rooms down...the piano seemed itself to mourn as Erik played out his own pain. Christine recognized the song, and began to sob. _Why? Why! God, let this darkness pass!_ At last, then, she began to realize that she was not the only one struggling to deal with the loss of their child.

_Dies irae, dies illa...solvet saeclum in favilla...teste David cum Sibylla..._

Erik pounded on the piano keys, teeth gritted in anguish, his own sobs mingling with his wife's, unbeknownst to him. He didn't understand why he felt the need to play this sort of requiem. Clearly it was not for his son whom had passed..._no, he was an innocent. I am the one who has never been innocent._ He fought against the familiar thoughts of self-blame and unworthiness that threatened to distance him once again from his God. He knew that condemnation was not a tool wielded by the Divine upon the redeemed, but he couldn't keep himself from feeling that he still must be at fault somehow. His hands seemed to play of their own accord...the Day of Wrath...the Day of Judgment...but there was no one that he could exercise his own wrath upon. _Futile...this wrestling with God._ Instead, he stood and put his weight into the task at hand, as the furious, deliberate movements of his arms and fingers upon the keys caused the instrument to shudder and groan. After nearly an hour of this continuous assault, Erik opened his eyes to see red streaks marring the pristine ivory. His eyes widened in shock, and he stopped abruptly, mid-phrase, bringing his palms to his face. The skin had been worn down on the pads and tips of his fingers, blisters had formed and begun to bleed...and he had noticed none of it. He had gone numb.

_Dies irae, dies illa...oh, God, my world is already in ashes. How can you possibly bring beauty from them?_

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Erik opened the front door slowly, his eyes narrowing as the sunlight hit his face. "Monique."

"Erik."

The two stared at one another for a moment before Erik got his wits about him. "C-come in. Please."

With a downcast expression, Monique Giry seemed to glide through the doorway, perfectly poised and strong as always. She had always been there for him...and she had come again. She removed her hat as she spoke. "Erik...I don't know what to say. I'm so, so sorry, mon ami." She drew nearer to him, and he shook with emotion as she placed her hand on his cheek. "It will be alright. I promise you."

His eyes moistened, and he fought to remain stoic, but she knew better. Rather than embarrass him, she removed her hand and quickly attended to the reason why she had come. "Christine...has she..._spoken_ to you since yesterday?"

He swallowed, praying that his voice would not falter, as he spoke in low tones. "No. She has said nothing to me since the day it occurred. Yesterday, she wanted nothing to do with me. And when I try to bring her food, she refuses it. She's refusing her pain medication as well, but I can see that she is hurting. I...I don't know what else to _do_. I want to _make_ her eat and do what she should to recover! But...she is not a child anymore...and I am not her teacher. I am her husband. And she has _shut me_ _out_." His lower lip trembled. He had not experienced being so emotionally tied to another human being and then being thrust aside. Not since his mother... The pain was so fresh, he could almost taste it, like blood on his tongue. "Please. _Talk_ to her."

Monique nodded, and with a swish of her black skirts, turned and made her way to the bedroom where Christine lay, unaware of her arrival. She stopped at the door and listened before knocking, and hearing nothing, wondered if Christine was asleep. _Perhaps I shouldn't disturb her now._ Just then, she heard a rustling sound followed by a few muffled grunts. _She's awake...or dreaming._ She raised her hand and gently knocked four times. No reply. She knocked again...still, there was no reply, and she could hear no more sounds coming from the other side of the door. She pursed her lips. _I'm going in anyway. _Taking a deep breath, she turned the doorknob slowly and silently, peeking through the small crack in the door. The room was almost completely void of light, save a small stream that had managed to pierce through the gaps in the heavy curtains. At last, the door was open enough for her to step inside, gingerly, her eyes straining to adjust to the darkness. She caught sight of the silhouette of the bed, but could see nothing beyond that. "Ma petit? Are you in here?" she whispered into the darkness.

The covers of the bed rustled again. "Madame?" came a surprised and hollow voice from the same direction as the rustling sound. "Is that you?"

"Yes. It's me, ma cherie. I've come to see how you're doing." She closed the door behind her as her eyes began to distinguish Christine's small form in the center of the mattress, surrounded by three large pillows. She sat down on the edge of the bed and felt around until she found the young woman's warm hand. "I'm so sorry that this has happened...to both of you."

Monique waited and squeezed her hand gently. After a moment, Christine turned her face away and sighed. "I-I want to..."

"Yes?" Monique asked hopefully, leaning in to brush the hair from Christine's forehead with her free hand.

"I want to be _alone_."

Monique leaned up again, still clinging to Christine's slender hand. She sympathized with her, but she was not going to allow her to wallow in depression. She couldn't. "Give me a good reason, and I'll leave right this moment."

Christine turned toward her again, a surprised expression on her face. She raised her voice slightly. "I want to be alone because _I am grieving_."

Monique frowned. "I realize that, ma cherie. But if you would only--"

"I **want** to grieve **alone**!" Christine spat, causing Madame Giry to startle. Christine yanked her hand free of the older woman's grip. "Please!"

Monique steadied herself and looked into the pleading eyes of the girl whom she had raised, seeing that she was truly a girl no longer. "Christine...you don't _understand_, do you? You are **not** grieving alone. You have a husband who would give the world just to be near you right now, and _you are not allowing it_."

Christine opened her mouth to respond in protest when Madame Giry continued. "Erik has **also** lost a child. He cannot lose _you_ as well." With that, she got up and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Erik was preparing a light lunch when Monique entered the kitchen. He turned his somber gaze upon her as she shook her head mournfully and sat down at the table. He turned away again in silence, picking up the teakettle as it whistled.

She stared down at the wooden tabletop, trying to think of what she could do to help Christine before she ruined her marriage by emotionally isolating herself. As she sorted her thoughts, a dainty teacup and saucer were set down and pushed toward her slowly. She raised her head and met the tender, blue-green eyes of her friend. He studied her, concerned, and sat down across from her.

"She wouldn't listen to you?"

Monique sighed. "I'm not giving up."

Erik nodded and looked down at his own full teacup. "I don't know what else to do."

She reached across the table and laid her hand atop his larger one, putting on her bravest smile. "Just love her."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Lunch is ready...she needs to eat."

"Let me take it."

Monique headed back down the hallway, tray in hand, bearing a small amount of food and a cup of juice. She knocked again before entering, and this time, the knock was answered.

"Come in."

She maneuvered her way into the dark room once more, carefully balancing the tray. She couldn't find a place to set it down, however, so she stopped at Christine's bedside. "Here is your lunch...take the tray while I let in some light, please."

Christine wasn't the least bit hungry, but she grasped the tray anyway, as Monique strode to the heavy draperies and pulled one back with some effort. They both shielded their eyes as the sun beat through the window. Flecks of dust glided through the air, winking in the sunbeam before settling upon the bedclothes.

"Well," Monique said as she positioned herself on the edge of the bed, "it seems that your husband has made you a very nice meal. Eat. You need to regain your strength."

Christine sighed. "I don't feel like eating right now."

"You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?" the older woman teased her. "Very well. I'm not leaving until you eat. _All_ of it." She folded her arms to further emphasize her statement.

Christine reluctantly lifted her fork and spoke unsteadily. "What...what you said before...about...not grieving alone..." She lifted her watery eyes to her foster mother's. "I...I just don't know how to say what I am feeling inside."

Monique smiled. "Ma petit, you don't have to say _anything_. Just let the people who love you comfort you. Let us care for you...especially Erik. You are his _life_."

"I know." She inhaled deeply. "And he is mine. He has been so patient with me through this...he _never_ used to be that way," she said with a small chuckle.

"Things are different now. _He_ is different now. And if you don't want to see him hurting again, you need to let him in. You've lost your child..._both_ of you. And you need to lean on each other to get through the pain."

"I'm...I'm just afraid. I think that--" Christine paused, chewing her lip as she mulled over the proper words in her mind. "I don't know if I will ever be able to bear a child."

Monique moved closer then, laying a motherly hand on Christine's cheek. "Believe me...there is hope." She removed her hand and rested it on her lap. "I...never told you this before, but Jules and I...we lost a baby."

"_You_?"

Monique nodded. "Before Meg. We lost a baby and I blamed myself. I thought that surely there must be something wrong with me, or I that I had done something to cause it...but none of that was true. I don't know the reason why these things happen. But I can tell you that you _can_ go on. Many women have lost children and gone on to have large families. And you cannot blame yourself." She studied Christine's face. "You _have_ blamed yourself, haven't you?"

A tear rolled down the younger woman's cheek. "Yes."

"It isn't your fault. It is no one's fault. Only God knows why this happened...and you must trust Him. He always seems to know what is best. I have seen God do wonderful things, ma petit. I never dreamed that He could change a man like Erik. I was wrong, and I'm so glad that I was. After seeing what God has done in your husband's life," she patted Christine's hand, "well...I know that _nothing_ is too difficult for Him."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Monique quietly entered the kitchen again, in time to see Erik pouring himself another cup of tea. She cleared her throat. Erik turned, mid-sip, to face her. "She wants to see you, Erik."

Immediately he placed the teacup on the counter with a clatter and briskly exited the room. Halfway down the hall, he had second thoughts and retraced his steps to the kitchen. Monique nearly gasped when he came from behind and embraced her.

"Thank you," he said breathlessly, and released her before she even realized what had occurred. Smiling to herself, she sipped another cup of tea at leisure as he again set off to speak to his wife.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

They embraced for what seemed like hours, shedding many tears as they spoke of their fears and sorrow. Erik told Christine of his unusual encounter with the Lord, and what had been spoken to his heart...and she wept, both in grief and joy, as the message penetrated her heart. It had been exactly what she needed to hear.

After a long while, Erik stretched himself out on the bed beside his wife and cradled her in his arms, singing softly and speaking words of reassurance. "Our love is strong enough to overcome this, mon ange...do not lose hope."

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A/N: Okay, so I haven't been able to get back to any "fluffy" stuff at this point. But I hope you're all still enjoying the story. Things will begin to happen fairly quickly in the next few chapters. :) Please review...I so appreciate each one! Thank you!


	70. Chapter 70

**Chapter Seventy**

Erik opened his eyes as the sun was setting. _We fell asleep. Monique! Oh, no... _He glanced at Christine, who was resting soundly on his right arm. Moving slowly, he was able to remove himself from the bed and exit the room. He found his friend seated in an armchair near his piano, reading a book from the shelf. She looked up and smiled as he entered.

"Hello...I hope it was alright that I waited here. I'm assuming that everything went well?"

"Yes. And of course...my home is your home. I have no secrets any longer," he said with a slight smile.

"Hmm," she replied, snapping the book shut and rising to replace it on the bookshelf. "I thought I would stay and prepare supper for you both, if you don't mind." She smiled and smoothed out her skirts. "Oh! I nearly forgot! There was a delivery for you by messenger. It's on the kitchen table."

"It's not necessary for you to stay, Monique...I am capable of preparing our meal."

She put her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders. "I am _aware_ of that, Erik, but I think that you can use a rest, along with your wife." She glared at him. "Do we understand each other?"

He chuckled. "We do." Starting then for the door, he stopped suddenly. "Well, what are you _standing_ here for? I'm hungry!" He smiled with satisfaction as she gasped in surprise, and went to the kitchen to retrieve his message.

By the time Monique arrived after looking in on Christine, Erik was seated at the table, his brow lined with worry. "What is it?" she asked him, hurrying to his side.

He exhaled deeply. "I knew it. I knew this would happen. They are beside themselves..."

"Who?"

"My partners at the firm." He shook his head. "It's the Populaire. Giroux and Associates was to be in charge of the reconstruction, but it seems that the managers' financial backing has..._run out_." The hint in his eyes told the rest of the story, and her mouth dropped open.

"No! The Viscomte? Surely not! He would not abandon the Opera!"

"It seems that he has."

"But _why_?"

"I have a feeling that the Viscomte is more clever than I gave him credit for. He must know...he must have made the connection between me and the firm, and...well, you can probably guess the rest."

"Oh, Erik," she said mournfully. "I'm so sorry. What will you do now? Do you have other projects? And what will the managers of the Populaire do? Will they now have to sell the Opera?"

"I wish I had some answers, Monique...but I do not." His mouth was set in a grim line.

"Well," she said, rising from the table, "let me get supper on. It's the least I can do for you right now."

"I'm afraid I've lost my appetite," he said as he stood. "But you and Christine have a nice meal. I'm going out for a while."

"But...what am I to tell Christine?"

"Tell her that I'll be home in a few hours, and not to worry. I'm going to see a friend."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I suppose I understand why you did it...but I am concerned for everyone involved." Gregoire Laurent rubbed his forehead as it beaded with nervous sweat. "This puts the managers in quite a situation, as well as...the _architects_, does it not?"

"I'm sure that the managers will recover," Raoul said with a little too much self-assuredness as he watched his acquaintance curiously. "If they cannot find another patron, then they can surely sell the Opera...wouldn't you agree?" He raised an eyebrow as the older man shot him a worried glance. "And as for the architects...I'm sure there will be other business."

"Well...yes, I _suppose _so. I'm just..._surprised_, that's all. But I see your reasoning. Clearly, you don't want to associate yourself any more with the memories of that place, and of Christine, if it makes your fianceé uncomfortable."

"Yes. And I just thought you should be aware of it before it becomes public knowledge. I have always appreciated your candor and wisdom...however, this time I felt that it was in my best interest to listen to Angelique, as well as to my brother. He has been pressuring me to withdraw from the project for quite some time."

"Ah. I see."

There was an awkward pause, before Raoul grimaced. "But you see...that isn't the only reason why I did it."

"It isn't?" His throat suddenly felt tight.

"No." He looked away from Gregoire's eyes momentarily, considering his own thoughts. "I also discovered that...that the man who is now Christine's _husband_ is one of the architects at Giroux and Associates."

_So it's come to this..._ "And you were uncomfortable with that?"

"Of _course_ I was! You don't know him, Monsieur! The man is...he is..."

"Well?" Gregoire was becoming angry and was having difficulty hiding it. He folded his arms across his chest. "_What_ is he?"

"I am not what you think I am."

The two men whirled around at the sound of the uninvited voice in the room. At first they saw no one, but then, emerging from behind the parlor door, came the very man whom they were discussing...friend to one, enemy to the other. Erik stepped inside, followed by Guillaume, the butler.

"Monsieur Durand to see you." Guillaume bowed and retreated speedily from the scene.

Raoul was terrified, yet filled with hatred at the presence of the man who, to his mind, was nothing but pure evil. Though he had to admit to himself...there was something that seemed _less threatening_ about him. His jaw dropped open in shock as he looked from his nemesis to his longtime acquaintance and saw it clearly..._they know each other._

Gregoire glanced sorrowfully at Raoul, and then looked to Erik, saying nothing.

"I'm sorry to arrive unannounced like this," Erik began, his eyes fastened steadily on his friend. "I had no idea that you had..._company_." His gaze traveled to the young Viscomte. _How could I not recognize that boy's carriage outside? I can always see so **clearly** in the darkness... _His icy stare nearly set Raoul's legs to trembling. "If I had known, I _certainly_ would not have come."

Raoul opened and closed his mouth silently, thinking that he would respond with some pointed remark, but no words formed. He turned slightly, staring at Gregoire Laurent as if he expected an explanation or action on his part.

At last, Gregoire approached his friend, hand outstretched. _The truth, at last..._ "Erik." He greeted him as warmly as he could, considering the unusual circumstances. "You know that you are _always_ welcome in our home. Was there...something you wished to speak to me about?"

Erik hesitated, noticing the confusion on the Viscomte's face at Gregoire's words.

"_Always welcome in our home"? What **is **this? What in God's name is going on? _Raoul tried to move, but found that he was rooted to the spot, witnessing the display of friendship before him...and his stomach churned while his mind raced. _How do they know each other? Through business? No...Christine was here...and the Laurents know her, and perhaps they...no, it must be through business...that's the only thing that makes sense. There couldn't be any other way...unless they...no...**no**. _Bile rose in his throat as it all began to make sense...the day he saw Christine in town...her insistence at wanting to speak with him as he was approaching the Laurent carriage...her nervous glances at the window...her relief as he walked away..._Oh, my God._ His throat was burning then, and his eyes stung with the threat of tears. "It was _you_." He nearly choked as he approached Erik slowly, trying to control his own rage.

The softness in Erik's eyes that had been directed toward Gregoire was quickly replaced by a guarded haughtiness. He couldn't help himself. "What's _wrong_, Viscomte? You act as though you've seen a _ghost_!"

Raoul let out a snarl of anger and advanced upon Erik. Quickly, Monsieur Laurent stepped between them, blocking Raoul's path. "There will be **none** of this in **my house**!" His firm tone startled both men. "You will _behave_ as gentlemen! This has gone on _long enough_! Sit down, **both** of you." He pointed brusquely toward the armchairs near the fireplace, and Erik promptly seated himself out of respect for his friend, turning away to stare at the cold hearth.

Raoul looked blankly at Monsieur Laurent as though he had not understood him. The older man gestured again, but Raoul tightened his jaw and turned away. "I'll not sit in the same room with this **maniac**!" He made a move toward the door as Erik spoke.

"Resorting to _name calling_ is hardly a noble trait, Viscomte," he smirked. "And recanting a _commitment_ reveals nothing more than sheer selfishness."

Raoul stopped. _So the news **has** reached him, then._ "It is not for _selfishness_ that I withdrew my funding for the Opera...not that I have to _justify_ myself to the likes of **you**, Monsieur le Fantôme!" Raoul spat, his face reddening by the second. "The woman I love has asked it of me, and out of love, I have done as she requested! But then, what would you _possibly _know of _love_?"

Erik shot out of the chair, his fists clenched and eyes blazing. "I should kill you where you _stand_, you **pathetic excuse for a man**! I know more of love than you could ever _dream_, and I have learned it from the woman who is **my** **wife**!" He then dropped his voice low, and added smugly, "I believe you _know_ her."

Raoul suddenly charged at him without warning, sendingErik's mask toppling to the floor before Gregoire could pin his arms behind him and drag him away. "You see?" Raoul shrieked wildly. "Look at him! He is a monster! You have befriended a **monster**, Gregoire! He is even more twisted on the _inside_ than he is on the _outside_!" He struggled against Monsieur Laurent as Erik calmly gathered his mask from the floor, placing it back upon his face.

He raised a hand in reassurance, praying silently for restraint. "It's alright, Gregoire. It's alright. Let him go."

"Not until you agree to be _civil_ to one another in my home! I will throw you **both **out if need be."

"That _won't_ be necessary!" Raoul retorted, seething and still struggling against his captor. "I am leaving, and I will not return here! After all the years of friendship that my family has extended to you, I cannot believe that you have betrayed me in this manner! You have clearly lied to me, Monsieur, for _months_! This is inexcusable, and possibly even unforgivable!"

Gregoire released him and spun him around, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Now, listen here, young man! Befriending this man here has been more of a blessing to my family than you will ever _know_! You have nothing to do with our friendship, and the only reason why I withheld information from you was to keep the peace, for _all _of your sakes, and especially for Christine! That poor young woman deserves far more than to have the two of you plotting against each other for the rest of your lives!" He poked a finger into Raoul's chest. "_You_ are getting married soon, and _he_ is already married! You both have women that you love. Thank the Lord and be _happy_! Life is too precious to waste on hatred!"

At this, Erik's felt some remorse. He fought back tears as he thought of the precious life that had just been lost to them. "Indeed...it is." He moved toward Raoul, surprising even himself as he extended his hand in a peace offering. "Viscomte."

Raoul quickly stepped away from him, shaking his head as Gregoire released him. "You may be right, Gregoire, but the day I grasp the hand of this man in _forgiveness_ is the day that the earth stops turning." With that, he stalked from the room and left the house without another word to anyone.

Erik and Monsieur Laurent stood there in silence, taken aback by what had just occurred. After a moment, Erik moved to the armchair again and sat down. Gregoire came behind him then, laying a hand on his shoulder. "That...was most unfortunate. For all of us."

Erik's voice was monotone. "Yes."

"I'm so sorry...I had no idea that he was coming, nor that you were coming, for that matter. I still can't believe what just happened."

"It happened. That much is certain."

"I'm assuming that you were coming to give me news about the Populaire...it seems that you've wasted a trip."

"I did. But...there is something else." He turned to his right, looking up at his friend. "I...I don't know why it has happened, but...Christine...she has lost the baby." His voice trembled as he spoke..._baby._

Gregoire closed his eyes at the news. "_Oh, no_...Erik, I'm so sorry." He sat down in the other armchair. "When did this happen? Is she..._recovering_?"

"A few days ago. She seems to be doing better today than she was before. But it has been quite difficult for both of us."

"I'm sure it has. Is there anything that we can do? Anything at all?"

"No...our needs are met. Please...just pray, if you would. I...need direction at this time, and Christine needs strength to get through this...all of this _pain_. It's just so hard for her..."

"Of course we will pray. All of us." He hesitated a moment. "By the way...I haven't seen you in church of late. You have been missed."

Erik sighed. "I just don't feel right going back there...not now that Father Michel is gone. I've only heard from him once, and things didn't seem to be going very smoothly for him. Now I'll need to write to him with..._less than encouraging _news, I'm afraid."

"I understand. But our new parish priest has been asking to meet you...he's heard of your legendary music, and tends to look longingly at the organ loft each service." He smiled a little. "It's as if he's hoping you will just 'appear' and begin to play."

"Sounds rather like some sort of _ghost._" Erik shook his head. "I know that I _should_ attend, but...with all we've been through lately, I just don't know. But you needn't worry about us...we will be fine."

"Now, Erik," Gregoire scolded him, "you do not have to walk through your life alone. You make sure that you keep in contact with us. After Christine is feeling better, we will have you for dinner."

Erik nodded. "Let's hope that it's _sooner_ rather than _later_."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik arrived home to find Monique still awake, reading a book in the front room. "Well, it's about time," she whispered. "It's nearly midnight!"

"There were some...unfortunate complications. Couldn't be helped."

"Oh? Such as?"

"I'm too tired, Monique...I'll discuss it with you another time." He frowned. "It's too late for you to go home now...you're staying in the guest room. No arguments."

She smiled knowingly. "I've already unpacked my things."

"Good." He nodded, and then paused to give her a questioning look. "_Things_? You packed things?"

"Of course! I didn't know how long you would need me, so I packed a bag with some necessary items. You didn't think I would just come for a day and then _leave_, did you?"

"Well, I...well, _yes_. I suppose that _is_ what I expected. And you carried nothing with you today when you arrived."

"I left my bag outside on the step. You never even noticed it," she winked. "Seems you're losing your keen sense of sight, mon ami."

"And _you_ are still as obstinate as always."

She laughed. "_Obstinate?_ Mon cher, you have to look no further than your _mirror_ to find an obstinate person."

"True. And now I can also find one in my guest room. Good night." He heard her cluck her tongue in frustration as he left the room, and smiled to himself. _Home, at last._

He crept into the dark bedroom and felt his way around, removing his clothing and mask, and slipping into his side of the bed. He and Christine hadn't shared the bed since her miscarriage, and it seemed strange to do so. She stirred as she felt his weight upon it.

"Erik?"

"Yes, mon ange, it's me. I'm sorry to wake you."

She rolled over and laid a hand on his chest. "It's alright. I'm just glad you're home." She asked no questions of him, of where he had been or with whom. "Good night."

He kissed her hand. "Good night, mon amour."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"_No...no! Let me out of here! Let me out!"_

_Cruel faces...taunting faces surrounded him as he clung to the bars of his cage, squeezing his eyes closed. He screamed as the whip slashed across his back. "Stop! Stop it, please! Don't hurt me anymore! Let me go, please! I just want to go back to my mother!"_

"_Your mother doesn't want you...she **never** wanted you...she can't take care of a freak like you! You're cursed! An abomination! A piece of garbage! You're not even a **person**! You worthless Gypsy trash!"_

"_We don't owe you anything! You deserve to be beaten! You are nothing more than a mistake! A curse on this land! You should leave! Leave, and never come back! Get away from here! Go back to where you came from, Gypsy scum!"_

_Another crack of the whip, then silence...the faces blurring as his eyes brimmed with tears, and their mouths moving noiselessly. A voice suddenly pierced the silence like a trumpet. "Whom shall I send? Who will go for us?"_

Erik woke, gasping and in a cold sweat. Christine was breathing steadily next to him in the darkness, unaware of the disturbance. He quickly got up and made his way to their lavatory, splashing cool water on his face. He shook his head, discouraged. _They've come back...the nightmares have come back. Lord, make them stop...I don't need this now..._

He returned to bed, but after over an hour of restlessness, he gave up and left the bedroom, finding himself at the piano. _I can't play at this hour._ He got up and meandered to the bookshelf, as a thought came to him. _I need to write to Father Michel and let him know what has happened... _Quickly finding some paper, he penned a brief letter and signed it before plodding off to bed again, this time fully exhausted as he fell into a deep sleep beside his wife.

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A/N: I want to thank each one of you for your encouraging reviews. I appreciate them so much. I continue to notice many of my own errors as I write, and I am eager to finish this story so that I can go back and correct some things. LOL! With seventy chapters now written, that will be no easy task. Again, thank you for reading. And to you, the many anonymous readers (and there are a LOT of you), won't you please drop me a line? Even a short note would be wonderful. I'd love to know what your impressions are. Thank you! I will do my best to update again soon!


	71. Chapter 71

**A/N: **_I know, I know! You thought I'd abandoned this story? Well, I apologize. Real life has its way of digging its claws into you when it is least convenient. I had been working on a video for a friend as well as dealing with a few bouts of illness here at home among myself and my family. Plus, helping with Vacation Bible School and everything else one can volunteer for seemed to take up all of my time. I hope you will enjoy this update. I'm going to try to bring this story to a close by early Fall, 2006. I will be homeschooling my children again this year, so it will take a lot of my time again, once that starts up in late August. Thanks for your patience! I appreciate you all:)_

**Chapter Seventy-One**

"We're sorry, but we felt it best to have a face to face discussion about this situation. We know that it is a long trip for you..." Monsieur Raleigh shifted uneasily as Erik stood in the doorway, dressed in his usual black and looking as commanding as ever. "We believed it would be more..._productive_ to converse in person rather than by messenger."

"A practical assumption," Erik replied. He had determined to say as little as possible when the meeting was arranged. He was going to listen, for once, before charging ahead with any sudden reactions. "Let's get down to business, then." He seated himself in the only unoccupied chair in the room--Raleigh across from him at the desk and Beauvais on his right--and folded his arms in front of his chest.

"Yes..." the partners shifted their eyes from Erik to each other and back again. "We know you are aware of the situation with the Populaire..."

"Of course. You sent me word by messenger."

"We did. And...you are also aware that we have had a bit of a..._dry spell_ recently...when it comes to securing new clients."

"I am aware of that." Erik found himself wondering why Monsieur Beauvais sat, stiff and silent, fingering his moustache as always, while Monsieur Raleigh did all the talking.

"And we have been taking quite a loss, financially. We unfortunately have found that we are going to have to cut back on some things considerably...salaries and such...in order to stay afloat. I know that this must come as a shock to you."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Gentlemen, I knew that it was a distinct possibility...things being what they are, now that the Populaire is no longer on our list of projects."

"Yes...true." Raleigh responded. The men all sat awkwardly for a moment before Raleigh took a deep breath. "Forgive me for asking this, but there have been..._rumors_..."

"Rumors?" Erik felt a sick tension pulsating in his veins while his stomach became as a lead weight within him. Paralyzed by the moment, he couldn't have moved if the whole building had suddenly caught fire.

"...About why the managers at the Populaire suddenly lost their funding."

Erik made his best attempt at a nonplussed expression. "And I'm to assume from your tone that these rumors have something to do with _me_?"

Beauvais spoke up at last, stuttering. "We--we don't really believe that there is any _truth_ to these rumors..._do_ we, Raleigh?" His lip twitched as he released a strained laugh.

Raleigh eyed him with disdain, and turned his attention back to Erik. "People are saying that there may have been some sort of...bad blood...between you and the patron of the opera, the Viscomte de Chagny." He paused, watching Erik's face for a sign of acknowledgement. There was none. "We are your partners, and this business is our livelihood as well. Is there any truth to this?"

Erik studied Raleigh for a moment before answering. _I should have seen this coming. I've been so distracted by my grief...I should have known... _He stalled. "Obviously, you think that there may _be _some truth to it, if you are confronting me on the matter."

Beauvais leaned forward, shaking his head vigorously. "N-no, no, not at all...we just--"

"**Enough**, _Charles_," Raleigh boomed, weary of the man's transparent cowardice before their masked partner. Huffing, he continued. "Monsieur, there have been rumors surrounding you from the moment you came to this firm. We have overlooked _many_ until now, but...if we have lost a _significant account_ because of--"

Erik held up a hand, stopping Raleigh mid-sentence. "No. I understand." He leaned forward in his chair and focused his eyes on the mahogany desk before him in an effort to remain calm. _So...the ghost truly has found me at last. _"The Viscomte and I had a bit of a..._conflict of interest_...in the past. Over the woman who is now my wife. If he discovered that I am a partner in this firm, then...it is reasonable to assume that he may still hold some hostility toward me and has decided to withdraw his patronage altogether." He looked at his partners with gravity. "I assure you, I have tried to avoid the Viscomte for quite some time. Had I known that this would happen--"

"I'm sure you have, but...this personal matter has had a very unfortunate effect on our firm." Raleigh grimaced, rubbing his worry-lined forehead. "We are concerned that these rumors will cost us other business. The Viscomte has many friends in high society, and we cannot afford to have our good reputation sullied...whether or _not_ the rumors are true."

Erik could feel his face burning. "I do not _believe_ that he will cause us any more trouble," he replied through clenched teeth.

"But can you guarantee it?" Raleigh leaned forward, his eyes sorrowful and imploring. "Can you know this for _certain_?"

Erik knew where this was leading. He straightened in his chair, realizing at last what had to be done. "No, Monsieur, I cannot. I am not a soothsayer, nor a reader of men's minds, regardless of what _other_ rumors you may have heard about me. And I am also not a _fool_. I know what you would ask of me now."

Raleigh pursed his lips, his expression full of regret, as he reached into his desk and retrieved several papers. "Monsieur Durand, we are prepared to offer you a generous sum, today, in return for your third of this firm. We cannot afford to wait. You know how quickly rumors spread in Paris..."

This sudden demand _did _startle Erik. He had hoped to at least have a day or two to mull over his departure from the firm, and was angry that his hand was being forced. "I _see._ Well, _you've_ certainly thought this over." He glowered at the two men as he went on. "It appears that you would have reached this decision _regardless_ of whether these so-called rumors were true. Strange how I overestimated your character, _gentlemen_. Your late employer clearly had more faith in me...and more faith in the _truth_." He stood and brusquely snatched the papers from Raleigh's hand, rifling through them to surmise the contents. After several seconds, he tossed them to the large desk with contempt. "This offer is not what I would consider a 'generous sum.' I have been the lead architect on most of our recent projects, and you are aware of this. I have brought in a _sizeable_ amount--"

"This _is_ our offer,_ Monsieur_," Raleigh interrupted, as Beauvais' eyes went wide with dread at the interaction between the two. He squirmed in his seat when he noticed that Erik's hands at his sides were balled into fists, his knuckles turning white. He looked as though he were a large cat, ready to pounce upon its prey.

Erik's mind roared with an animalistic bloodlust that he fought desperately. He envisioned himself grappling Raleigh's neck and squeezing until his eyes bulged and his life left him. Reason fled away for a moment, and he took a step toward the man, his eyes full of an unearthly rage. Beauvais leapt up, stammering something about "civility" as Raleigh came close to tipping backward in his desk chair, clearly terrified.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the rage subsided, surprising no one more than Erik. _If I kill this man, I will prove to my wife and everyone else that I have not changed. I cannot do this...I cannot put Christine at further risk by committing this heinous act...Oh, God, help me...I don't understand why this is all happening... _He closed his eyes and pressed his hands on the edge of the desk, shaking his head slowly. "This is _wrong_," he growled. "What you are _doing_ is **wrong**."

Raleigh's voice came out in a choked whisper. "I'm--I'm sorry. We...have no _choice_..."

"You **do **have a choice," Erik spat back at him, reaching for a pen and signing the papers that still lay in disarray on the desk. He slammed the pen back to the desk, some ink spitting from the tip on to Raleigh's hand. "I'll expect to receive my money _tomorrow_. No later. Or I will be hiring an attorney, gentlemen. After the way this has been handled...that should _concern_ you."

Raleigh at last leaned forward in his chair again, his face still white as a sheet. "Agreed."

An air of silent fury reigned as Erik placed his fedora upon his head and stalked from the office. Descending the stairs, he wondered how on earth he was to tell Christine that he had no way to provide for them any longer. _I could start my own firm, but...what if the Viscomte is out to destroy me? And unfortunately, _he thought with a groan, _he could do it. Oh, Lord...I need guidance. And I need it now._ He sought refuge in a familiar place, more by habit than by forethought.

The alleyway was quiet, and he pulled on the side door, a bit chagrined when he found it to be firmly locked. "What am I doing?" he whispered to himself, blinking in surprise. _He's not here for me anymore. Where can I go?_ Father Michel was gone, and Erik felt like a great fool, because he had simply..._forgotten_. In his haste and self-absorption at that moment, he had followed only his instincts to run back to him...to the first man who had ever fully accepted him as he was. The church was the one place where he felt completely at peace and safe in God's presence. Erik knew that he should be satisfied to simply voice his concerns with his Maker at any time or any place...but somehow, he knew that he had _grown_ to this point--he had come to know more than one man who helped to restore his faith in mankind--and now he needed people. He _needed_ them...listening ears of flesh and bone...but the one whom he needed most had followed a greater call.

Still, asinine as he felt, he was compelled to enter. He found himself at the front entrance to the church, and he pushed the door open, entering with caution. The door closed behind him slowly, his eyes gradually adjusting to the dimness inside. Everything looked and even smelled as it had before, and his stomach quivered at this realization. It felt like coming home...

Erik quickly sat down in one of the back pews and glanced toward Father Michel's former study. The door was closed. He couldn't remember when the door had ever been closed to him before. He was caught off guard by the feeling of sadness that engulfed him, and he averted his eyes, bowing his head to pray. _I don't know what to feel right now...I am furious! And I'm helpless...and...**why** are You **allowing** this? **Why?** Have we not been through enough? And now I have to go home and tell the woman I love that I have lost **everything**? _ He shook his head and sighed in frustration, his mind a swirl of confusion. A voice pulled him from the cacophony of thought, then, back into the quiet of the sanctuary.

"Monsieur? Can I be of assistance?"

Erik didn't move. He didn't even breathe. _Oh, no..._

"Monsieur?" came the voice again, sounding closer this time. Erik's senses were heightened, and he could feel the adrenaline rushing through him. _Calm yourself...perhaps he will leave you alone if you don't respond. _

Erik nearly jumped, then, as he felt a hand on his left shoulder. "Is there anything that I can do?" The voice sounded younger than Father Michel's, he noted, and more hushed in tone.

_He's not going away._ He knew he had to answer, and he fought the instinct that screamed at him to act aggressively. He remained motionless, but answered with some rudeness, "I was _praying_, and you've disturbed me."

"Oh." The hand was quickly lifted from Erik's shoulder. "Forgive me, Monsieur. You just...looked as though you might need someone to talk to...other than the _Lord_, I mean," he ended with a light, nervous chuckle.

Erik rolled his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. "I'm _fine_. Thank you..." He glanced to the side enough to see the white of the man's collar... "Father."

"Very well. I am new to this parish, but if there is any help that you need, please let me know."

Erik heard the man's footsteps receding at first, and then suddenly he heard them stop and approach again slowly. He cringed, wondering what else the man could possibly want.

"If I may ask...what was it that led you to _this_ particular church?"

Erik was tempted to reveal his masked countenance just to intimidate the man into leaving him alone, but he quickly dismissed the idea. _Too risky._ "I thought I made it clear that I did not wish to engage in conversation," he replied coldly, then adding, "but I believed that this was the place where I needed to be. I have no other explanation."

"I see." The priest replied, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "And you came here seeking the Lord's...guidance?"

_Why is he asking so many questions? He would leave me alone quickly if he knew who I... _ Erik caught himself mid-thought. He was not that "ghost" any longer. He groaned inwardly. "Yes. Guidance. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

"Oh, of course. My apologies." The priest left quickly, but left his study door open, Erik noted with a hint of annoyance.

_No privacy today, I suppose. Not that Father Michel ever gave me any..._ He smiled a little at the memory of the round-faced, balding man with whom he held such a deep kinship. _Lord, he isn't here, and I need You to tell me what to do now. Tell me where to go..._ He was so lost in thought that he did not hear the approach of footsteps once again. The young priest came to sit beside him on the pew, but thought twice about touching him again.

Jolted from his state of prayer, Erik was at once aware of a presence beside him, and he heard the man's voice, low and in prayer, for _him_. Anger came upon him instinctively, but after a few moments, he felt as if a wall in his soul had been breached, and a wave of emotion was released in his soul. Silent tears began to wet his cheeks as the young priest ceased his praying to speak to Erik.

"Monsieur, I know that I do not know you personally, but the Lord knows you, and I believe that He brought you here today for a reason. He wants me to tell you something."

There was a long pause between the two men as Erik, in a bold move that surprised both men, lifted his head and looked into the priest's face at last, revealing himself...his eyes still moist with tears. He nearly wept again when the young man, his gray eyes full of compassion, did not flinch as he saw the stark, white mask.

The priest continued. "The Lord would say to you, 'I am calling you to a people whom you have hated, and you will love them in My name. You will no longer build houses of mortar for the wealthy, but you will build My house...My church...among those who have been rejected, even as you have been rejected. I have gone before you and have prepared the path before you...you need only to trust Me.' This is what the Lord would speak to you." The young man closed his eyes, then, and exhaled deeply, as though he were emotionally exhausted.

Erik stared at him, his jaw agape in shock. _What just happened here?_ He tried, but found that he couldn't form words to ask the priest a single question. As he sat, frozen in place, the young priest opened his eyes again and smiled meekly at him.

"You must be wondering what this might mean."

Erik nodded dumbly.

"I...I'm not sure myself. Sometimes the Lord just speaks to me and gives me...wisdom...for those who are in deep need of His guidance. I don't know where or when He will choose to speak through me, but I knew as soon as I saw you today that He had a word to speak directly to you...for some reason. But...if you believe that this message is completely in error--

"No. No...it _isn't_ in error," Erik's voice crackled with emotion. He stared at the priest as if he had read the very desires of his heart. "I've...I've been feeling for some time that God was calling me to a new work, but...I wasn't completely certain of what it might be. You have told me some things that I already knew. I just...hadn't been able to put them into words until now." He fought back more tears as he thanked the younger man quickly and stood, leaving the church by way of the front doors. Strangely, he remembered little of the ride home. His mind was so fixed on the words that the priest had spoken to him...words of confirmation that brought peace and comfort to his heart. As he prayed for the duration of the journey, he began to sense what he was to do...and how he was to deliver the news to Christine.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The hour was later than he expected by the time he returned home and the smells of the long-passed evening meal still lingered as Erik entered the house. He tossed his hat on to the side table in the foyer and made his way through the dimly lit hall to the front room where he found Monique, knitting in the armchair.

"Well, it's about time you came home. Christine has been quite worried." She arched an eyebrow in criticism. "You need to let her know you're home."

"I am aware that it's late. You needn't assault me as soon as I walk in the door." He turned his back on her and started toward the bedroom as she spoke again.

"Something happened, didn't it? You had expected to return home well before supper."

Wearily, he turned around to face her. "I _need_ to speak to my _wife_." He realized his harsh tone and added, "But thank you...for tending to things while I was away."

She nodded curtly in response and continued with her knitting as he resumed his procession to the bedroom...where Christine undoubtedly lay wondering of his whereabouts.

He opened the door quietly, seeing that the small lamp on the bedside table was lit and Christine was reading a book. She breathed a sigh of relief when she glimpsed his familiar face in the light. "You're _home_."

"Yes. I'm so sorry that you were worrying about me."

She cocked her head to the side. "And how did you know _that_?"

"A meddling little bird told me," he grinned devilishly, stepping to the bed and seating himself beside her with ease.

"Erik...you really shouldn't say such things about Madame. She has been very good to stay and care for me."

"She has." He nodded. "But helpful as she is...she is still a meddler at times."

Christine giggled. "She _is._"

_Oh, how I've missed that sound... _Erik reached up to finger an unruly curl upon her shoulder. "So...I have some..._news_."

Christine wrinkled her nose. "Bad news, or good news?"

He hesitated. "I suppose...both."

"Oh." She frowned. "Well...which are you going to give me first?"

"Well..." He took both of her hands in his, brought them to his lips, and kissed them. As he released them once more, she studied him patiently. At this, an odd sensation of satisfaction came over him, and he knew. He _knew_ that this was God's will...beyond the shadow of a doubt. _My whole life has been leading to this_. He began to recount the day's events to her as she listened intently, trying her best to refrain from interrupting. When he finished, a look of pride shone in her eyes like never before.

"I agree with you. This is the Lord's will. We should make preparations at once."

He leaned in to kiss her. "You _amaze_ me." They reveled in the close contact for several moments, in awe of this newfound direction. He pulled away at last, smiling at her. "I know what you...what _we_ have just been through...has been the most difficult thing we've ever encountered. Are you certain that _now_ is the time?"

"Obviously, _He_ thinks it is time. And we need to listen. There is so much to do now...I need to make a list! And you--"

"_I _need to write and tell Father Michel...that we are _coming_."

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A/N: I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. If you could take a moment to leave a review, it would be much appreciated. Thanks to all my readers:)


	72. Chapter 72

**A/N: Yes, again, it's been too long for an update. My only excuse continues to be real life and utter mental exhaustion. LOL! So, here it is and I'm sorry I kept you all waiting for this update. **

**Chapter Seventy-Two**

"Pass me that claw hammer!" Erik shouted from atop a ladder, leaning firmly against the side of a large wooden frame that he had constructed. Making architectural plans was one thing, but manual labor was something he hadn't done in a very long time. He chuckled to himself as Father Michel nearly tripped over his own feet rushing to bring him the desired object. "Thank you, _old man_!"

Father Michel planted his hands on his hips and glared up at Erik, unamused. "My boy, you may jest when we are _alone_, but when there are children and others in our presence, would you _please_ address me by my proper title?"

Erik rolled his eyes. "Alright, _Father_. But it's not as if any of these children speak our language... or _do_ they?" He second guessed himself. "Well, they're too young to understand anyhow." He looked down from his work to the grounds below. There were about a dozen children playing with a ball in the nearby field, running barefoot and laughing. He smiled to himself as he realized that after two months, he had lost some of his novelty among a select group of the older children. At first, it had been a fairly unpleasant scenario.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Upon first arriving at the orphanage just outside Giurgiu, Father Michel had warned Erik and Christine that many of the older children still held some of the superstitions of their people. Erik had thought at the time that the children may be frightened of his appearance, but once he stepped on the grounds, he knew that there was no possible way anyone could be more frightened than _he_...and he couldn't explain it, other than the fact that he was revisiting terrifying childhood memories. When he saw the first dark-eyed, olive-skinned child, his throat instantly went dry. He had clung so fiercely to his wife's upper arm that she winced in pain. He could still recall the look of understanding in her eyes, however, as they made their way through the crowded orphanage, filled with the smells of soiled diapers, bleached floors and cooked cereal. _Dear God...what have I gotten myself into?_

The hesitant smiles from several of the Sisters did more to unnerve him as he passed them, doing his best to avoid their eyes. He felt as if he were on display once again...a circus act...the man with the face of death... He shuddered with an odd chill just as Christine placed her warm hand upon his own frigid one. She had spoken to him in that moment, but the buzzing in his head drowned out all else. He knew the feeling...he was beginning to hyperventilate. _How long has it been? Ten years, at the least?_ Finally, just before the room began to spin, Father Michel had led them to their temporary quarters--which they were still living in. Leaky ceilings and all, they tried not to complain much...and it forced Erik to work even more quickly on constructing the new orphanage and staff dormitories. Father Michel tried to assist him all he could, but there was very little he could do other than make himself available should Erik call for help. Aiding Erik in addition to his other responsibilities was a larger burden than Father Michel was willing to admit, but Erik knew.

When Erik and Christine had been introduced to the children after a day of settling in, there were gasps and whispers. Erik gritted his teeth, trying to keep his composure. _This is not what I wanted...I didn't need to go through all of this again. _Father Michel had perceived the unrest among the children, especially the eldest, and attempted to calm them by explaining that Erik wore a mask because he had been hurt as a child. Unfortunately, it hadn't taken long for him to be exposed...

One day while giving one of the Sisters a short break, Christine had lifted an infant from a rickety wooden crib and immediately noticed the ripe smell emanating from the child. "Whew! Hold him...I need to get a fresh diaper!" Without any further thought, she passed the child into Erik's unprepared arms and left the room.

He held the boy at arms length for a moment before setting him back down again, bringing him to a standing position in the crib. As he turned to let go, the child reached up, catching his mask with a small, chubby hand. Erik was shocked, bending quickly to retrieve his mask, but it had not been fast enough. One of the older girls had followed Christine back inside and saw it--the _reason_ for the mask. _"Mahrime!"_ she had murmured, her eyes wide with fear. _Unclean._ The girl turned and fled to the grounds outside. Christine's mouth opened in surprise at the girl's departure, looking to Erik for an explanation of what had been said. The memories of his past clouded his vision, and he couldn't face her. He thanked God that she had not understood the child. _Unclean. Like a dead body is unclean. I am like Death, come into the camp. _Erik had cringed each time he heard fear in the voices of the children if he ever happened to be near them. It had taken nearly two full months of living there for some of the boys to begin to trust him...after watching him work, eat, and interact with others like a "normal" man.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Snapping back into reality, he yawned. Father Michel raised an eyebrow at him.

"Couldn't sleep last night?"

"Hmm...no. _Again_." He rested his chin on his propped arm, staring at the framework. "I'm just not used to hearing every single cricket's song, nor to sleeping on a less than adequate bed. It has been many years since my childhood days of resting so uncomfortably."

"Well, I suppose you could've brought your entire house with you, but we would have had no place to keep you _and_ all of your furnishings," the older man teased him. "Especially not the piano."

Erik turned on the ladder and dropped his hand to his side, scowling down at Father Michel. "A piano would be much more comfortable than what we've _been_ sleeping on, I daresay. But somehow I think Madame would have objected to us taking all of the furniture in the house. She would have had little to look after...or to sit upon."

Father Michel studied him thoughtfully. "I think it's wonderful, what you did...asking her to stay there when you knew she had nowhere else to go."

"She couldn't very well travel with her daughter at her age. Madame's life with a ballet company has long since passed. And besides, I needed someone to watch over our home indefinitely. I wasn't about to sell it after I worked so hard to build it, and we have no idea how long the Lord would have us to remain here. I can think of no one I would trust more than Monique Giry. She kept my secret for years at the Opera...and she will keep our confidence _this_ time, I'm certain."

Father Michel was puzzled. "Your coming here was a secret? I wasn't aware of that."

"I never felt it was necessary information, I suppose." Erik shrugged. "We left hurriedly, and did not wish for anyone but our closest friends to know our destination. The Laurents know, of course, and Madame Giry. No one else, not even my former employers or my banker...should le Viscomte decide to exact his revenge to the very ends of the earth." He chuckled to himself at the thought of the Viscomte hunting high and low for a man of his description. _It has been so many months since the "ghost" has been seen...surely I am now more legend than reality in the eyes of Paris..._

"Well, I'll leave you to get back to your work. I need to check on the older children. They have been giving their instructors a difficult time in school, and I am told that I've been entrusted with the Sisters' future sanity." He laughed. "And young Luca is the one causing most of the trouble."

"Ah." Erik smiled. "It's due to his boredom. I told you...he needs more stimulation. He is far too intelligent to be sitting in that classroom. So is Nicolae. And several of the girls, I must admit."

Father Michel eyed him seriously. "Erik, I've been thinking...you may be just the man for the job."

"_What_?" Erik's jaw dropped. "Oh, _no_, I don't think so. I'm an architect now, remember? I haven't taught a child in...in...well, since _Christine_ was very young! And besides, I am far too demanding." He snorted. "I fear the poor children would be in tears by the end of the first day."

"Just think about it, would you? Now I have to go...the Sisters may have been treated to a snake in the desk again today." He shook his head as he walked away.

Erik turned and began to pound nails into the wooden frame, but found himself lacking the proper focus to finish the job. _How can he think that I would be capable of teaching those children? Surely he doesn't mean for me to teach them every subject! But...perhaps...with the musical talent I already see in many of the young Lautari... _He discarded the thought almost immediately. W_hen would I even have the time to teach them?_ He sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. _I wonder how Christine fares with the children's school clothing._ Making his way down the ladder, he took the claw hammer with him and headed toward the main building just as thunder rumbled in the distance. He waved to the children, pointing to the sky. _Looks like rain_, he thought wearily. _Another afternoon of work lost. And another sleepless night, I'm sure, from all the dripping water in our bedroom. _The children seemed to take Erik's hint, scampering into the main building, where one of the Sisters ushered them inside.

Christine was toiling over the large sewing machine in their room when Erik entered, startling her. "Oh!" She put her hand over her heart. "Goodness, you scared me! I'm almost finished...I only have a few more pairs of trousers to make," she smiled. "How is your work coming along?"

"Fine. But Father Michel now thinks he's going to recruit me to teach some of the more difficult children...and I just don't think I have it in me to do it." He sat down on the bed, removing his boots. "There is just so _much_ work here to be done. How will we ever accomplish it without help from anyone outside the orphanage?" Laying down, he stretched his long legs upon the quilt.

"I don't think we should worry," she replied after a moment, placing another garment in the machine. "We should just pray."

He grunted in reply, his eyes little more than slits.

"Are you falling asleep?"

When he didn't answer, she paused from her work and glanced over to the bed. He was breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling in regular rhythm. _And here it is, only midday_, she thought, shaking her head, as heavy raindrops began to pelt the roof. _Rain...again. Things have got to change quickly around here._ She snatched up a pot and put it beneath a stream of water that had begun to drip, predictably, in the corner by their bed. _**Very** quickly, Lord._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Old Friend,_

_You have caused me much inconvenience, as usual. I understand your need for privacy, but I told you that should you require my services regarding the Viscomte, you were to contact me. It seems that you have decided otherwise. I went to your home to call upon you as I had not heard from you in some time, and surely frightened the woman Giry. With a small amount of convincing, she granted me the address to which I have sent this letter._

_I write to you with news of a few items of interest. It seems that the Viscomte, after discovering that you had left your architectural firm, inquired of your whereabouts for a short time before his nuptials. However, neither he nor any of his associates ever trespassed on your property (so says Mme Giry), and I am unaware of whether he received information from any other source. I have heard of no trouble from him since his marriage to the new Viscomtesse. _

_I also read in the newspapers that the Opera was sold by its managers. The new owner was not listed. Whether it will be razed or repaired is something that I do not know, and is the subject of the usual wild Parisian speculation._

_Madame Giry appears well and as spry as I remembered her. As for your other friends, I have had no contact with them. _

_I hope that you both fare well. If there is anything you might need of me, I remain here in Paris and have no plans to depart. I am getting too old to travel without good reason. I hope this letter finds you both well. Take a moment to sit down and correspond with me when you can._

_Allah protect you both..._

Erik folded up the letter and placed it in his nightstand drawer. _I should have told him...I deserve that slight rebuke._ He felt guilty...he had been in such haste to leave Paris that he had indeed neglected to inform the Persian of where they were going. He made a mental note to write back to him as he opened another letter that had arrived the same day, from the Laurent household. As he unfolded the letter, he smiled.

_Dear Monsieur Erik,_

_I hope that this letter finds you both well. My heart longs to see you again, though I am overjoyed that you are doing the Lord's work where you are. _

_I am sure you will be glad to know that I have been practicing all that you taught me. Mother gets very frustrated with me at times because I sneak away from my studies to practice piano nearly every day. But I do finish my studies each day, of course, and I wish to attend La Sorbonne, if all goes well. Mother and Father have commissioned a voice teacher for me and another young man comes to help me with piano. He is nowhere near your talent, but he is kind and never becomes cross with me when I make a mistake. His name is Monsieur Edmond Chenault. Often times, it seems that I surpass him in my skills! I tell him it is simply because my former instructor was a musical genius, and that seems to ease his mind a bit. He and I have a great deal in common, and he doesn't regard me strangely as most people do. To be quite frank, he smiles at me often and when he does, I feel very odd. I like him very much, but I do not wish to assume that he feels any real affection for me, for I fear it will dash my hopes. _

_How I long to find a love like you have found with your wife, Monsieur Erik. A real and true love, not a business transaction of sorts. I pray for it every day, even as I pray for you. Please write back to me. I greatly miss you and feel a void in my life from your absence._

_Your Friend,_

_Amêlie Laurent_

Exhaling slowly, Erik folded the second letter and placed it with the first in his nightstand drawer. _How I miss that child...and it seems that she may now have a suitor. She is practically a woman now. _He smiled to himself, pleased in knowing that he had aided, in some small way, in her journey thus far.

It had been a few days since he had begun the framework for the new building, and he was proud of how much he had completed alone in such a short period. However, he hoped that Father Michel would return later in the day with news of some hired help. Erik had offered to pay someone himself, as the orphanage could not afford it, and he was willing to pay generously for quality work. _Surely someone will take the job, even if it means being amongst--_

He was startled by a knock on his door. "Come in."

"Hello, Erik." An elderly gentleman poked his head around the door.

"Father Tomescu! What can I do for you?"

"I...don't mean to bother you," the white-haired man said sincerely, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "I just wanted to thank you...for all you've done."

Erik smiled. "Father, no thanks are necessary." He stood, brushing off his trousers. "And speaking of what I've done...I think I should get started on the day's work before it gets too warm."

"Please, wait." The old priest approached him with a slow shuffle, his shoulders bent with age. "Father Michel has told me a small bit about you...of course you know I had to inquire as to your character when I found out that you were coming. He told me why it could be an unusual situation for you."

The look of surprise on Erik's face did not go unnoticed.

"Oh, please, don't be upset or angry with Father Michel! He meant no harm. He knew if he didn't give me _some_ history about you, that I would not have allowed you to be around these precious children." He smiled again, more broadly. "I just wanted to say 'thank you' because...given your history with the Rroma people, I am quite moved that you would come here and give so selflessly so that these children can have a better life."

Erik managed to choke out a feeble response of acknowledgment as the man turned to leave. He could feel the onset of tears, and hoped the old priest would leave before they emerged.

"Oh, and just one more thing, if I may..."

"Yes?"

"I am so very sorry for all that you have been through, Erik. May the Lord bless you and heal all your wounds." With that, he closed the door quietly. Erik heard his footsteps fading down the hall as he eased himself back down to the edge of the bed, in disbelief of the old priest's kind words. _He doesn't even know the half of it... _He rubbed his forehead._ But it doesn't matter now._ Erik was not that man anymore. Only scars remained from the injuries once left open and bleeding.

After a few moments, his senses returned to him as he heard the laughter of children playing outside. A baby's urgent cry pierced the air, and then another. The Sisters were surely busy. Christine had gone to offer her services to them again, as needed, and they were grateful...but more help was needed in every area of the orphanage.

He said a quick prayer and headed outside in haste to complete the frame. He knew he had a deadline to meet, for winter was soon to come.

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**A/N:** Thanks to all of my kind reviewers! I'm so glad you're staying with my little story even though it's taking me longer than I intended to write it. Reviews are such an encouragement. :)


	73. Chapter 73

**A/N: Well, hello again at last! I am finally wrapping up this story in the next chapter or two, and I thank you all for your understanding as I have gone through many schedule and life changes of late. I am sure that some of you are frustrated by my lack of recent updates, but sometimes that's just the way life goes. I promised you I would complete the story, and I keep my promises. (I may decide, however, to leave the ending up for a limited time because I would like to do a major re-edit on this story. And you never know...I might just change the ending again after I've posted it. I haven't yet made up my mind.) I want to say thank you to all those who have been reading this story. I hope that it has touched you in some small way, and that you have enjoyed it. I want to say that writing this story has awakened a dream of mine that had been asleep for too long, and now I have begun a new career because of it. So...thank you to those of you who have been so very, very encouraging to me over the past year. (Yes, it's actually been over a year since I began this story.) But I've said enough... **

**Chapter Seventy-Three**

"What in the name of--" Erik's eyes were wide as saucers. "How..._when_? Where did you--?" He inhaled at last, trying to form a sentence without stuttering, straightening himself as he did so. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm so glad that I could surprise you. I felt I owed it to you, since you surprised me with your unannounced departure, Erik." The former daroga of Mazenderan stepped across the threshold of the dingy orphanage, a wry smile creasing the already heavily wrinkled skin around his eyes. "I have come to help in any way I can."

"But...I--"

"No, _don't_," the older man said, lifting up a hand in protest. "Don't try and lie to me. I know you are struggling here to build this place, and we've come to help."

"_We?_"

"Of course. Darius and I." He removed his bowler. "I understand that you are greatly unprepared and likely have no lodging for us, but he has arranged for something temporary in Giurgiu until something a bit closer can be acquired. He has taken my larger items there ahead of me."

Erik stared at him in disbelief.

"May I at least put my hat and coat in your room while you show me around the grounds?"

Erik shook his head, let out a single, deep laugh, and finally nodded. "I suppose so. But how did you know?"

"From your letter."

"But I said nothing of our struggles in the letter."

"Exactly. It's what you _didn't_ say that led me to the truth of the situation. And I knew I couldn't allow you to deal with this on your own. I am not unaware of how the...these _nomadic_ peoples...are treated. And though I cannot say that I have great fondness for them," he shrugged, "these are mere children who are in need of a home. What kind of a man would I be if I did not do some good works and show myself worthy of Paradise?"

"You can't earn Paradise, Daroga...despite what you believe." Erik smiled a little as the Persian studied him, stone-faced. "But...if ever there was a man who I believe could come _close_ to earning it, it is _you_, my friend. Thank you...I'm so glad you've come."

The Persian's expression softened then, and he placed his palm against Erik's already extended one, grasping it. "Very well. What are we waiting for?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The new facilities went up in half the amount of time that Erik had estimated, fueled no doubt by the power of prayer and by the steady work of hands that had come to assist him. He knew that the daroga was not fond of the Rroma people, and yet he stayed. He had remained for months, working diligently alongside Erik each day. After the first light snowfall, Erik knew that they had no choice but to finish the roof in a matter of days. Darius was laying the floor inside as the other two men worked in haste at the top of the structure.

Father Michel was growing impatient...not that he wasn't grateful for Erik's work. It just seemed that, although the work went rapidly, the weather had not been on their side through the entire endeavor. He prayed fervently for the completion of it so that furniture could be moved in and the children settled into their new dwellings. The orphanage and dormitories had been an ambitious project for Erik, and the priest knew it. It was one thing to draw up plans, but another thing entirely to toil away in the elements every day, and he saw the exhaustion of the men each night.

Christine had taken on a greater role in the care of the infants, and she seemed to enjoy it. Erik often secretly observed her as she sang and rocked them to sleep. Though it gave him joy to see it, he knew that they both desired the same thing...a child of their own. The Sisters quickly came to love Christine and her caring spirit. She was patient, and an extra set of hands and eyes were constantly needed for the young ones. On this day, she watched out the window, beaming with pride as the men worked and conversed with each other...

"Where did you put it?" Erik growled with impatience.

"Put _what_?"

"My hammer, of course! I lent it to you a moment ago when you misplaced _yours_!" He leveled a fiery glare at the Persian and stood from his squatting position on the roof. "We have to get this finished, and you are losing things _constantly_, Daroga!"

The Persian raised an eyebrow at him. "Look down, near your left foot."

Erik's face turned scarlet. "Oh." He stooped down again, without apologizing, and resumed his furious pounding at the roof tiles.

"You're welcome."

Christine shook her head, grinning, as she watched the exchange between the two men. After a moment, she saw Darius emerge from inside the structure and head toward the older building. She walked outside to meet him, carrying a sleeping child in her arms.

"Can I get you something?" She smiled at him, keeping her voice low so as not to wake the baby.

"No, thank you. I just came to tell you...I'm finished."

Her eyes lit up. "You're _finished_? Oh, that's wonderful news!"

"Yes, and..." He paused for a moment, looking away in thought. "And we are ready to hang draperies and bring in some of the larger furnishings. To whom should I speak about this?"

She smiled. "Follow me."

Darius stayed a few paces behind as Christine turned, leading him inside the building toward the classrooms, where she cracked a door and poked her head inside. After a few seconds, Father Michel emerged.

"Christine? Is everything alright?"

"Of course! Good news! We can begin moving furnishings inside...larger ones...and draperies!" She beamed, and Father Michel's expression took on the same glow as he clapped his hands.

"Praise the Lord! Oh, this is wonderful!" He looked behind her at Darius. "Thank you...I will gather up a few of the older boys and then I will meet you and we will move as much as we can."

Darius nodded and retreated back through the building and outside to the grounds, where the Daroga and Erik were still snapping at each other.

Erik saw him approaching and frowned with annoyance at yet another interruption. "What is it, Darius?"

"Sir," he bowed, "we are ready to move in larger furnishings. Father Michel may need your assistance."

"You're _finished_? _Already_? You've completed the flooring?" He wiped the sweat from his brow as he stood, a slow smile spreading across his dusty face. "Well...Daroga, what are we waiting for? Let's get moving."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Two months later..._

"I don't _want_ to do it again!"

"You must _try_. I have been very patient with you up until now, but if you continue to rebel against me, I will stop teaching you. Do you understand?"

A sullen look came over the young boy's face, and he sighed, surrendering to his teacher's will. "Yes."

"Alright then...pick up the violin and play it again, more slowly this time, Luca. I know you hate scales, but...if you do not first learn how to walk, then you will never learn how to run." Erik restrained a grin as the child looked up at him with innocent brown eyes.

"What does running have to do with playing the violin?"

"Just play."

There was a soft rapping at the door as the mild scratching of the bow against the strings began again. After an hour of little else but scales, Erik welcomed the break.

"Just a moment, Luca," he said, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. He turned slightly toward the door. "Come in."

The door creaked open and Christine poked her head into the room. Her eyes met with Erik's first, then Luca's. She smiled. "Hello, Luca."

"Hello, Madame," he replied in French.

Christine glanced quickly at her husband. "I see you've been teaching him."

"Of _course_," Erik winked, smiling down at Luca.

The boy looked to his teacher and spoke in a tongue that Christine still did not understand, though she had heard it spoken since they arrived in Romania. Erik laughed and responded briefly. This apparently delighted the boy, as he leaped from his chair, set the violin carefully in its case and rushed from the room with little more than a hurried "goodbye" in French to Christine.

She laughed as the boy brushed past her. "What on earth...?"

"You've no idea how glad he was to see you come," Erik chuckled. "He is most definitely in your debt."

"What are you doing to that poor child?" Christine teased him, drawing nearer and slinking her arms about his waist. He encircled her then with his, placing a lingering kiss upon her head.

"It's good for him. He has talent, but lacks discipline."

"Are you forgetting that I know what a demanding instructor you are?"

"No...but I was much harder on you. You were my star pupil."

"Hmmm." She lifted her chin and met his eyes. "Well, your star pupil has made you lunch. Come with me."

"I don't really want to stop for lunch. I'm sorry."

She drew away from him, annoyed. "But...Luca is gone and I assumed that you would be free for another hour, at least!" She stuck out her lower lip, feigning a pout. "And I took the trouble to make it. What if I brought it here and I could sit with you while you work through lunch?"

"No."

"Why, _Erik Durand_!" She huffed. "You are being _very_ inconsiderate today!"

"No, I am not," he said, suddenly grasping her arm and pulling her close to him. "I am being selfish. I don't want lunch." He raised an eyebrow, and she blushed.

"Oh. But--"

"Though I do appreciate your trouble."

"Oh, really?" She stifled a smile.

"Hmm...yes. I _must_ find a way to return the favor."

"You, my dear, are incorrigible."

He smiled slyly. "Yes, and persistent, too," he said, moving his face down to hers. "I usually get what I want."

She turned her head away, his kiss landing firmly on her right cheek. She wriggled free of his grasp, making a dash toward the door. "Well...you'll have to _catch _me first."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He didn't want to move an inch. His wife lay next to him, sleeping, and he knew it was late in the afternoon by the long shadows cast in their bedroom. _Our new bedroom_, he thought drowsily to himself, his eyes grazing the updated, yet very modest, furnishings. The curtains were new and untattered, made by Christine from leftover fabric used to make curtains for the children's dormitories. He smiled and hugged her closer to his bare chest, exhaling lightly into her curls. _I am so proud of this woman...she has become such an indispensable help to everyone here. _He felt a light fluttering near his heart then, and looked down to see her waking.

"Good afternoon, mon amour."

She blinked. "_Afternoon?_ Oh, my goodness! I...I have work to do, Erik! How could you allow me to sleep like this?" She moved away from him and gathered her clothes in haste. "And you! You have lessons, don't you?"

"No, Luca was the last one today."

"Oh. Well...shouldn't you be assisting Father Michel with...some sort of work?"

"Father Michel knows that my wife comes first."

She sighed in exasperation. "Oh, you are _impossible_! Now everyone will know what we've been doing!"

Erik laughed heartily. "Mon ange, we are married! These things are allowed."

"I'll just tell the Sisters I...had a very sleepless night, and I was exhausted. Something." She struggled to don her corset once again.

"If you lie to them, they will know. You are a _terrible_ liar, mon ange." He slid out from under the covers and crept up behind her, wrapping her small frame in his arms and nuzzling her neck before she could protest. He felt her acquiesce to his touch, and smiled against her skin. "At least, _I _always know when you are lying. You cannot hide your true feelings from me."

"No," she replied breathlessly, "I don't suppose I can." She turned to face him. "Erik, I..." She paused, biting her lip.

He noticed the hesitation in her, and brought his palms to either side of her face. "What is it?"

Tears began to fill her eyes. "But...I don't want to...I don't know how..."

"Nonsense! Whatever you need to say, you can say it."

"But...I'm afraid...I don't know what you'll do...or feel..."

Erik frowned. "Christine, are you..._afraid_ of me? After all this time? We've been past my episodes of—of..._rage_ for...well, for years now! What on earth could--"

"I'm _pregnant_." She trembled in his arms and lowered her eyes to the floor.

Erik stood, stunned and devoid of air in his lungs, for several seconds. At last, he reached down and lifted his wife's chin, searching her eyes. "How long have you known?"

"N-not very long," she choked out hoarsely. "But...but I think I am nearly three months along...I just lost track of my monthly...w-with the construction and the school...we had been so busy that I—oh, _Erik_! I feel so foolish! I've not felt ill at all, and I...suppose I just overlooked it."

His eyes glimmered with the hint of tears as he smiled down at her. "I am so _happy_, mon ange. You've made me so very, very happy." He tenderly claimed her lips with his own and felt her relax into his embrace. After several moments, she took in a breath and whispered the question that had been gnawing at her mind since she discovered her pregnancy. "Erik...will—will everything be alright this time?"

Erik's heart sank and soared at once. He, too, was thinking of the child they had lost. "Christine...I can only promise you that God is with us, no matter what happens. I love you." He gathered her more tightly into his arms and pressed her cheek to his breast, as she released hot tears against him.

_Oh, God_, he silently prayed, _let this child live. Please, let our baby live._

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_**A/N: **If you can find it in your hearts to forgive an author for the great delay, please review! Thank you! _


	74. Chapter 74The Letters

**_A/N: Well, my dear friends, this will be the last chapter to this very long story...over a year has passed since its beginning and this was quite emotional for me. I hope that many questions will be answered in this last chapter. This is the way I have chosen to end it at this point. In the future, during my rewrite, who knows what might happen, but for now...this is the end. It is written as a series of letters, and though it will be different from my other chapters, I hope that you will appreciate it. I do not believe that a story must be tied with a perfect bow at the end, and this one will have some threads left undone...just as the original story of Erik had. I have enjoyed this journey immensely, and I intend to continue writing. I do not know if another fiction will be in the works (it's possible, as I've thought of writing a sort of "prequel" to this one, though it could be quite different) but I want to say THANK YOU to those of you who have stayed with this story and have given me feedback. Some of you have told me this story has made a difference in your lives, and I marvel at that, and can give praise only to God, who can accomplish anything He desires through any means. Thank you, my wonderful readers and reviewers!! I love you all. --AslanHeart_**

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**Chapter Seventy-Four(The Letters)**

**_Many years have passed..._ **

_My dearest Erik,_

_I miss you. I am so empty without you. I wish to join you and I cannot dream of living any longer here alone. When you went away, it was as if my heart left my body and never returned. It has been a year, my love. A year today. And all the memories of our life together fail to comfort me. I once hoped that they would bring me peace, but they only remind me of what I have lost, and of what has passed. I cling to the hope I have in our Lord that one day soon I will be with you again at last. I talk to you often, but I know you do not hear me. And you will never read this letter. But still, I feel the deep need to reveal my thoughts to you. I love you. I love you and I always will, my angel. _

_Your Christine_

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx _

_My dearest Erik,_

_I have seen him again. It has been years, yet his eyes are still the same...very kind. But now they have added to them the melancholy hint of grey that I wished never to see again. He has lost much, Erik, as I have. He has lost his beloved Angelique. I remember when they were married...it does not seem like it has been so many years ago. They had three children together who are now grown, and now he is alone, and very lonely. He is in need of friendship and companionship, and...oh, Erik, I have seen him more than once, and I fear that I am betraying you with each meeting. But I know that is not true. _

_I have struggled to survive on what little we had left after your health troubles and your burial, and I have been doing mending and making things here and there for a local seamstress as she gets too busy to keep up. But I am not making the rent for my little flat here. __(You would, of course, say that it needs many repairs.__) I sold much of our furniture except for the pieces that were absolutely necessary. I may have to sell your beloved piano soon, and I would rather starve than do so! I have been here for several months now, praying every week for the income that I need. The Lord always provides, somehow. René Michel and Etienne do send me money when they are able, and Gabriela comes and helps me with my meals on occasion. They have each asked me to move in with them, but I have refused so as not to burden them, my love. Sometimes I feel as if they believe I am their child and not their mother. Oh, how I wish you had lived to see your granddaughter given to her husband in marriage! Their first child is expected to arrive any day now. She chose her husband very wisely, and I believe you would have approved. He adores music, and as you know, that was her first love.  
_

_My only comfort is in knowing that I will one day be in your arms again...oh, to hear your sweet voice again...my tears have stained this page already. _

_I am so lonely, my love. Please...please understand my situation. When you were called home, my heart left me...but now I fear that if I attempt to live alone, I will become a bitter old woman. Here I sit and write this and I wonder if you would even care...could you possibly even know? Still, I feel I owe you this explanation. I know that your jealousy died long ago, but my own insecurity leaves me feeling conflicted as to what your wishes might have been for me. And then I wonder...do your wishes matter at **all** now? You are in another time and place, and I have been left behind. _

_I ache for you, Erik, with every beat of my heart...but Raoul has expressed his affection for me, and I must admit that I do feel affection for him. Oh, I know that the love I feel for him will always pale in comparison to what we had, my Angel. And I know that his love for me is dim compared to the light in his heart for his departed Angelique. And yet, we recall that which we shared so long ago, and our easy, reliable friendship...at least before I chose you. He is different now, Erik. He has changed. I'm sure you can understand...you changed more than any man I've ever known. I don't know what may happen, but I have to think of my future, however many years I have left on this dreary earth which pales in the light of your beautiful face._

_Your Christine_

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx _

_Dear Ones, _

_I wish for you to know how much your father and mother loved you, but I have not the presence of mind to speak of it now. I know that you yourselves bore witness to it until your father passed on, both old and wise in years. He was a friend to me, and I will not forget him. He provided all that I needed, even a home, and after your parents returned to France, they allowed me to remain with you for a time until I could find my own home. Do you remember? You were perhaps too young... Your father gave me something after their return. He said, "Monique, I want you to have this. Please...sell it and get what money you can from it. After all that you have done for me, it is only a small token of repayment." I hesitated, but God knows I needed it. I had so many health issues that I could not say no to my friend. He was so concerned for me...but I couldn't sell it. It should have been hers--your mother's. It held such meaning for them both—pain and joy—and I just couldn't do it. I made my way with the help of my daughter, Meg (I believe you met her on a few occasions), who married a kind gentleman, further along in years than herself, but with a giving heart. They sent me money on a regular basis and secured my treatment at the finest hospitals they could afford...and I have obviously lived to tell about it, so all is well. I am moving to Marseilles to live near them and my grandchildren very soon. _

_I don't know if you read of it recently, but there was an auction a few weeks ago at the Opera. They were selling some things that remained, clearing out the old materials before it was demolished to erect the new one. I couldn't stay away...and I'm sure your father would have understood. But there was something that I knew I must do first...so I took what he gave me: a ring, and I knew he would understand, so I had to do it. I purchased a rose--your father loved red roses, as you may know--and I tied a black ribbon about it. I had quite a time doing so, with my fingers shaking as they were--whether from age or something else, I do not know. Before I finished the bow, I slipped the ring onto the ribbon, and I stood there, at your mother's grave, saying my last goodbyes to my once daughter, and I said, "He is pleased with you, ma cherie, he always was. And now you are together again at last." I cannot ever remembering smiling at anyone's grave before, but on that day, I couldn't help but smile knowing that the ring had returned to its rightful owner. _

_I saw him at the auction...the Viscomte. He and I both bid on your father's music box. At first, I couldn't understand why he would want it so badly, but then I realized...he knew your mother would have wanted it. He never denied the love between your father and mother. At last, at long last, I know that he accepted and understood it. You mustn't hold anything against him. Love is love, and he loved your mother dearly. Do not hold jealousy in your hearts as your father once did. He would have wanted what was best for her, to be provided for in her final days. And she is with your father now, the great love of her life, united once again, in heaven. _

_So...with this letter, I bid you farewell, dear children. May the memories of your mother and father go with you and give you strength to accomplish all that you must in this life. Never forget who you are, dear ones. You are loved._

_Sincerely,_

_Monique Giry_

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx _

_To the Children Whom I Love as My Own:_

_Though things have been difficult for us, we have overcome with the help of God and with much understanding. I know it wasn't easy for you when your mother remarried. Please know that it was a difficult decision for her to make, but she made it of her own free will. Once upon a time she was naïve about such things and would never have dreamed of such trying choices...but your father was as her very breath, and upon his death she became a shell of the woman she wished to be. The more we spoke and visited, the more I saw the light and laughter returning to her countenance, and it warmed my heart as it did yours. Though I had only a few short years with her until her illness overtook her, I will treasure them for the rest of my days as some of my happiest moments. Your mother was beautiful, and she gave of herself to help others on the mission field for so many years with your father, whose memory I greatly respect. Your mother told me of their life together with such fondness, and to know that her life was blessed was a balm to my once wounded soul. I was blessed to have been the husband of the two most beautiful women in the world. What I did to deserve such a thing I will surely never know. _

_My time grows short, as you are aware, and my doctors tell me that the cancer has spread and cannot be cured. I will not live to see the Opera reconstructed in your mother's memory, but I would ask that you be there upon its completion to represent the memory of your mother, father, and I, as it was the catalyst for so much of our lives. Your mother would have wished it. She did not know that I had gained ownership of the Opera until after we were married, and I never even told my dearest Angelique that it was mine. I did as she requested long ago and removed my patronage, but when it was offered for sale, I found myself unable to resist. Thankfully, she never asked about my holdings again, and with enough money even the gossip of the papers can be silenced. I didn't know at the time what possessed me to keep the building and land, but once your mother came back into my life, I knew that it had been meant to be. Her husband, your father...his painful past and his memory were locked within its walls and cellars, and I could not let it go. I could not see it turned over to someone who did not understand the significance it held, though at times the bitterness I once felt toward your father was overwhelming--even frightening. _

_My children, though you are not mine by blood, I love you as much as my own children, and I love your children as well. I have learned so much in these short years I have been given. I have learned to love and to forgive, and I have learned the dearness of life. My children, these are the things which are sacred. Hold them close to your hearts always. _

_Viscomte Raoul de Chagny_

**--The End--**

A/N: Thank you to God for ALL of my inspiration, to Gaston Leroux for his incredible work (is it fiction or fact? We may never know.), to Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber for his amazing interpretation, to Gerard Butler (whose Phantom won my heart) and to all of you.


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